


this is me trying

by SussexSquad



Category: American Royals
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2021-02-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:14:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 124,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26403271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SussexSquad/pseuds/SussexSquad
Summary: It's been a year since Beatrice ascended to the American throne, and she hasn't made the progress she wanted to. The country cares more about her fashion choices than her foreign policy, and Beatrice is starting to think it's time she stirred up a little more trouble. Samantha has stepped into her role as heir presumptive, but everyone still thinks of her as the Washington Wild Child. And no one knows what Jefferson is doing, including Jefferson himself.
Comments: 52
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> so after reading Majesty I found myself very frustrated with some of the characters' choices. I do think the book ended with a glimmer of hope, and I found myself wanting to explore these characters as they grew into themselves and their roles. I find Beatrice's storyline the most interesting in the books, and this story focuses mainly on her as she really steps up as the first Queen of America. I love me some romance, and this story will have it, but this is first and foremost about the Washington siblings navigating their lives. hope you enjoy!

_they told me all of my cages were mental_

_so i got wasted like all my potential_

_and my words shoot to kill when i'm mad_

_i have a lot of regrets about that_

_this is me trying - taylor swift_

**January 2021**

“Your Majesty?”

Beatrice looked up from the correspondence she’d been drafting. A farm worker in Orange had reached out to the palace, asking for support of a workers’ union. Beatrice had been trying to strike a balance of being enormously supportive, while also maintaining language that wouldn’t get her accused of being a communist by the more conservative political parties. So far, it wasn’t going well.

“Yes?” Ron Desrosiers, her Commander of the Revere Guard, stood in the doorway to her study.

“Your Majesty, after recent events, I have decided to rotate your security detail somewhat.”

“Oh, alright.” Beatrice had assumed this was coming. There had been an increase in incidents of people jumping the palace fence recently. Beatrice chalked it up to it being Pledge Week over at King’s. 

“Your Majesty, this is Michael Lawson, he will be the new head of your Guard team.” A stocky man, about six feet or so, with a head of dark hair and more facial hair than the Guards usually sported, walked in after Ron.

“Mr. Lawson, it’s nice to meet you.” Beatrice stuck her hand out. 

“Mike, please. The pleasure is mine, Your Majesty.” Beatrice liked that he hadn’t hesitated in returning her offered handshake. So often, people would awkwardly bow or curtsy despite Beatrice’s attempts to reduce the formalities in informal settings.

“Wait, did you say my Guard _team_? As in, I’m going to have more than one Guard?” 

Ron nodded. “I know that you’re used to a level of security that isn’t very intrusive, but I’m afraid that is going to have to change. Lawson here will be with you at all times during the day, while two additional Guards shadow you as well. Additional Guards will fill out a night shift.”

Beatrice sat back down in her desk chair with a slight huff.

“Is that entirely necessary? My father didn’t have that much personal protection.”

Ron at least had the good grace to look apologetic about this new intrusion into Beatrice’s life. 

“I am sorry, Your Majesty, but it is necessary. You are not the same as your predecessors, and there are a lot of people who think that because you are a woman that you are more vulnerable.”

Beatrice stared out the window, toward the river. She knew what Ron was saying was true, but she didn’t like being reminded that her gender was still such a contentious issue even after a year on the throne. She turned back to Ron and Mike. She’d always liked Ron. He was about her father’s age, and had been with the Revere Guard since before she was born. Most importantly, he had always spoken to her with the same respect he had shown her father and grandfather. Ron had never questioned whether Beatrice could handle the details of the security briefings. If Ron felt upping her security was necessary, then she believed him.

“Okay. I understand. Thank you, Ron.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” he said as he retreated into the hallway. Beatrice expected Mike to follow, her Guard always stood outside the room she was in, but he remained standing where he was.

“Is there something else you needed, Mr. Law - Mike?” she asked him.

“I think it would be a good idea if we went over exactly how this is going to work,” he said, plopping into the seat across from her desk. The legs of the antique chair groaned somewhat under the weight of his muscular build.

“What do you mean? Didn’t Ron explain it correctly?”

“He explained the logistics just fine. What we need to discuss is my role. I’m not your babysitter, kid – ”

“You know, saying you’re not my babysitter and then calling me ‘kid’ kind of negates your previous statement.”

“Deal with it. Your safety is my priority. But that is going to require cooperation from you. If I tell you to do something, you need to do it, no questions asked. I don’t carry purses or trinkets the public hands you. My hands need to be free at all times. In fact, I’d like you to stop accepting things from the public at all when you’re on the rope line. You can have your pre-approved little kid with the flowers bit that you royals love, but nothing else.”

“Aren’t you being a little...overzealous about this?” Beatrice interrupted again.

“No, Your Majesty, I am not. You get briefed on the top threats, I know that. But you get a _lot_ of hate mail.”

“Gee, thanks.” Beatrice began twirling a lock of her hair around her finger. She knew there were people who were still not happy about her presence on the throne. There was a whole organization whose sole purpose was to lobby for a constitutional amendment that would make her claim illegitimate and put her younger brother Jeff on the throne. As though Jefferson was qualified for anything more than shot-gunning beers on the South Portico.

“Look, kid. I’m rooting for you, alright? It’s about time this country entered the 21st century. I’ve seen your speeches to Congress, the UN, the IMF. You’re wicked smart, and you care. As far as I’m concerned, I don’t need any other qualifications from my monarch. Not everyone feels that way though, and some of those people are going to try and act on that. I can’t promise that you won’t ever be the target of a violent attack. But I will promise you this: if you’re dead, so am I. So, could you please just follow my instructions?”

Beatrice looked at him. He was probably about ten years older than her, which wasn’t quite enough of an age gap for him to be thinking of her as a ‘kid,’ but Beatrice found that she didn’t bristle at the nickname. He seemed to mean it in a familiar way, as though they were on the same sports team. She let go of the strand of hair she’d been twirling beneath her ear.

“Okay, I’ll follow your instructions. I’ve always been obedient anyway,” she added under her breath. “I only ask that you’re honest with me, please. If there is a legitimate reason for me to be worried, I’d like you to tell me.”

“You got it, kid.”

“Now, please go wait in the hall. My next engagement isn’t until 11, and I need to finish my correspondences for today.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty.” He bowed slightly as he left the room.

Beatrice picked up her pen from where it lay atop the stack of letters she still had to read and respond to. It had been her father’s favorite, and some part of her liked to think that using it would give her some inspiration. As she looked at the royal seal that was etched into the lid, she hoped that there wouldn’t be an occasion for Mike to tell her it was time to worry.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**April 2021**

“Nice speech, kid,” Mike said as Beatrice stepped off the dais. Colin and Gina, two of her rotating team, stood on each side of the steps leading to the floor of the hotel ballroom.

“Thanks. You didn’t think I stumbled a bit when I was talking about water rights?”

“Well, now that you mention it, you got a little shaky. But no one cares about water rights anyway.”

“Colin, has my sister arrived?” Beatrice asked.

“Yes, Your Majesty. She arrived during your speech, she’s seated at your table. Caleb said the weather delayed them coming out of Savannah.” Colin had a shock of red hair and so many freckles that they nearly connected. His ears stuck out a little, and Beatrice felt weirdly protective of him despite his role as her Guard. He had the same kind of jumpy energy as her brother and sister, the kind that meant they never stopped moving. It was endearing, if sometimes irritating when he was jiggling his leg while sitting next to her in the car.

“Great, thank you,” Beatrice had been hoping her sister would be able to make it to this fundraiser. She had had an idea rolling around in her head for the last several months, and she wanted to run it by Sam before she began making any concrete steps to implement it. It would be a major change, not only to Beatrice’s life, but to Samantha’s too, as heir apparent.

“Eagle’s moving,” Gina murmured into her earpiece. It had taken over a year for Beatrice to not turn and look for her father whenever the Guards referred to her Eagle. For as long as she could remember, she’d been Falcon. The promotion of codename had occurred when her father died suddenly of complications due to stage four lung cancer over a year ago.

“Sammie, thanks for coming,” Beatrice said as she slid into the seat next to her sister. Sam had woven a silvery scarf through her braid, and it caught the light as she turned.

“Of course, Bee. Caleb said you kept asking what time we were coming in, was there something you needed?” Since their heart-to-heart at their father’s grave, Beatrice and her little sister had grown much closer. As the current next in line to the throne, Samantha had increased responsibilities. Beatrice thought she was handling them beautifully, although the press wasn’t always as supportive. 

“Sort of. I know you have plans with Marshall later, but I wanted to run something by you.” Beatrice reached to twirl a lock of hair before remembering that her hair was in a low bun tonight.

“Shoot,” Samantha said, reaching for her wine glass.

“How would you feel about a staff overhaul? I’m talking completely, with new positions, a nationwide hiring search, the whole enchilada.”

“When you say ‘overhaul,’ what do you mean?”

“I think the country still thinks of me as Capital Barbie. The press is going to run more coverage of the fact that I’m wearing Givenchy tonight than any of the contents of my speech. I think it’s time I started making them care more about what comes out of my mouth.” 

Beatrice had first started thinking about this after a visit with the Queen of France. Marie had been on the throne more than two decades longer than Beatrice had, and Beatrice had been struck by the difference in the staff structure at the French palace. Queen Marie had told her that, although becoming queen in the 1980s hadn’t been a walk in the park, having a dedicated staff around her had been key. A staff that included more than just a Lord Chamberlain to schedule her appointments and a press secretary to issue releases. 

“I’m listening. What did you have in mind?” Sam had helped Beatrice implement some changes around the Palace already, and she probably assumed this would be along the same lines as Beatrice changing the staff paternity leave policy. Although, Beatrice remembered with a smile, the look on her mother’s face when Beatrice had announced that the Palace would now offer an on-site daycare facility had been worth the hassle with the Washington City Council regarding the proper permits for such a facility. Queen Adelaide loved her own children dearly, but other people’s children were a different story entirely.

“No more Lord Chamberlain, first of all. I want to hire a Chief of Staff, a communications director, the whole shebang. I’ll hire a full-time Press Secretary, who would give daily press briefings to a press pool that would work from the Palace. I want a policy director – ”

“Whoa, slow down, Bee. This sounds great, seriously. But isn’t this a bit much all at once?” Her sister had put her wine glass down and fully turned to Beatrice. 

“I’ve been doing the status quo for more than a year now, and still no one is taking me seriously. I can’t do my job if everyone in this country still thinks of me as a five-year-old on Dad’s knee.”

Samantha looked thoughtful. Before she could respond, a shadow fell across the sisters.

“Your Majesty. Your Royal Highness.” 

Beatrice looked up into the face of her sister’s boyfriend, Marshall Davis. 

“Hi, Marshmallow,” Sam said.

“Love muffin!” Marshall answered, as he lowered into the seat on the other side of Samantha, pressing a kiss to the top of his girlfriend’s head.

“You two are truly vomit-inducing,” Beatrice told them, although she secretly thought the couple’s various nicknames for each other were endearing. 

“You love us. Now, what were we talking about?” Marshall asked as he plucked a shrimp off of Samantha’s plate.

“Bee is plotting a coup d’etat.”

“It’s not a coup if I’m already in charge, Sam. I just have some ideas about staff structure, that’s all,” Beatrice told Marshall. Marshall’s eyebrows shot up.

“I’ve known you long enough, Busy Bee, to know that ‘some ideas about staff structure’ isn’t the whole story,” Marshall said, using the nickname he’d coined shortly after he started officially dating Samantha. 

“Okay, so it’s a little bigger than that. Maybe a lot bigger than that.”

“I’m in,” Marshall said.

“See, this is the kind of support I need.”

“I’m supportive! I think it’s a great idea! It’s just a lot!” Sam punctuated each sentence with a raise of her wine glass, flinging droplets of merlot across the tablecloth. “What does Teddy say?” she asked.

“What does Teddy say about what?”

“About this plan, you weirdo,” her sister looked at Beatrice like she’d just asked why grass was green.

“Oh, I haven’t really discussed it with him. It doesn’t really concern him all that much, does it?” Beatrice began dabbing at the table with her napkin, trying in vain to dab out some of Sam’s spilled wine. The truth was, she and Teddy Eaton, her boyfriend and heir to the Duchy of Boston, hadn’t even been in the same city in weeks. He’d gone on a tour of the northeast while Beatrice worked from the Palace and attended events. They spoke on the phone every night, but Beatrice had found herself oddly irritated lately. That would probably all go away when he came back to Washington next week, though. Beatrice shook her head, clearing her thoughts.

“That’s a lot to discuss over the phone. Teddy always thinks my ideas are good anyway.” Not a lie, either. Teddy always backed her 100 percent, even if that wasn’t always what Beatrice was looking for when she sought his advice. 

“Well, I’m in. So, what’s next?” Samantha set down her glass and looked at her sister. Beatrice felt a smile begin to stretch across her face.

“We assemble a team.”

“This is going to be awesome,” Marshall said as he picked the remaining shrimp off Sam’s plate.

“God, I hope so.” This would be the biggest risk Beatrice had ever taken. Completely restructuring the Palace staff hadn’t happened since King George I reigned. Beatrice thought it was high time she changed that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**One week later**

Beatrice strode through the doors of her suite at the palace, her heel snagging on the carpet. No matter how long she’d lived in this room, she couldn’t ever remember that the rug under her sofa was a death trap. She entered her closet, and had begun removing her jewelry when she heard the front door of her suite open. 

“Bee? You in here?” 

“Closet!” 

“Hey, I thought you had a Cabinet meeting?” Teddy said, leaning against the doorframe. 

“It got moved up to 10 so I have time to review the new plans for the gardens before my flight to New Orleans. Why? You trying to avoid me?” Beatrice glanced at him in the mirror while she tied her hair up. Although she’d been joking, Teddy didn’t so much as grin. 

“Flight to New Orleans? Today? Why?”

“They had that freak tropical storm roll through a couple weeks ago, remember?” Teddy looked blank. 

“The congressional committee in charge of funding for natural disasters dropped the ball? There’s still hundreds of people who can’t return to their homes?”

“I still don’t see why you’re going tonight.”

“To knock some heads together, Teddy. I tried with the members in town already, but clearly I’m going to have to go down there and stir up some press for them to give a damn.” Beatrice was slightly confused. She could have sworn she’d told Teddy about this plan when he’d gotten back into Washington on Sunday. “Did I not tell you this?”

“You must have. Sorry, I’m just tired. I thought we could have dinner tonight, but I guess you won’t be here.” 

“You can come to New Orleans, you know,” Beatrice said as she scanned through her carefully color-coded closet in search of flat shoes to wear through the gardens with the designers. She made a mental note to buy more sneakers; her shoe collection leaned heavily toward heels. 

“I just got back, Bee,” Teddy said, scrubbing a hand over his face. He did look tired, now that Beatrice looked at him. 

“I know. You don’t have to. I was just offering.” 

“You’ll be working the whole time anyway, right?”

“I mean, yes? I wasn’t planning on hitting Bourbon Street. For one, I don’t have time, and also no one wants to see their queen blacked on hurricanes.” Beatrice grabbed a denim jacket off a hanger. 

“Denim on denim?” Teddy asked, finally cracking a bit of a smile as he took in her high-waisted jeans. 

“The Canadian tuxedo is back, my friend.”

“Whatever you say.”

Beatrice leaned up to kiss Teddy’s cheek. He followed her out of her suite and into the hallway. 

“So what’s this about a staff overhaul?” 

“Oh! Did Sam mention it? I’ve been thinking about this for a while and I think —”

“Why didn’t you talk to me about it?” Teddy stopped walking, shoving his hands in his pockets. 

“I’m talking to you now, aren’t I? Besides, it’s not as though my staffing changes affect you. If anything they might free up your schedule.”

“Doesn’t affect me? You’re talking about completely changing everything about our lives!”

“What are you _talking_ about? Changing the palace staff structure doesn’t change our _lives_.” Beatrice had no idea why Teddy was reacting like this. 

“You’re already working more, Beatrice. You’re gone more than you’re here. You want to add more politics?” Teddy kicked the toe of his shoe against the leg of a side table. 

“I’m the head of the executive branch, Teddy. My life _is_ politics. What the hell is the point of being queen if all I’m going to do is sit around and look pretty?” 

“You do that so well, though.”

“Are you _serious_?” Beatrice turned and stormed down the marble staircase. 

“Bee, wait! That was a bad joke, I’m sorry. But you know that taking on a staff like that, rolling out policy, executive orders, that’s a lot to take on! Are you sure you want that?” Teddy stepped in front of her as she reached for the handle on the French doors leading outside. 

“Get out of my way, Teddy.”

“Can’t we just talk about this for a minute?”

“I don’t have a minute, Teddy. I have an appointment with the landscape architects and the childhood development specialists who are helping to design the new park area in the garden, and then I’m getting on a plane. You’re tired, I’m annoyed, we aren’t going to have a productive conversation right now anyway.” Beatrice grabbed the door handle, ready to shove past him. Teddy seemed to deflate slightly. 

“Another edict from Her Majesty,” he said, almost too low for her to hear. He stepped away from the door, walking quickly back down the hallway and away from Beatrice. 

Beatrice stepped out onto the portico. 

“You want me to kick his ass?” Mike asked as he stepped out behind her. He usually gave her space when they were inside the Palace, but he was always within earshot. 

“Couples fight, Mike. It’s nothing.” They started out toward the gardens, Gina and Jake, her other Revere Guards for today, following behind at a further difference. Mike grunted. 

“That kid just doesn’t like not having everything his way.” Mike hadn’t liked Teddy from the moment he met him. He didn’t really like anyone with a title, something which Beatrice found odd, given his position as a Guard. To be fair, Teddy still wasn’t entirely used to the Revere Guards always being around, and could be standoffish toward them. Beatrice was so used to never really being alone that she hadn’t thought about how weird that constant presence must feel. 

“You’re talking to the queen, you know. Some people would say I also don’t like not getting my way,” Beatrice reminded him. 

“You don’t throw tantrums about it.”

“How dare you? I throw tantrums with the best of them,” Beatrice joked. “Do you not remember what happened last time I went more than four hours without eating?”

“I’m just saying, kid. You could do better.”

“You tell me that every day,” Beatrice said, rolling her eyes. 

“One of these days you’ll believe me.”

Beatrice ignored him. She didn’t have the energy to argue, and they’d reached the landscape architects anyway. She felt her spirits uplift, the way they always did when she was working. She’d been planning to transform the gardens around the palace for months, to make them more accessible to the public and include an expansive area for children. She’d always dreamed of having a secret garden when she was little, and she wanted to give the children of Washington a piece of that imagination. The gardens would now also include community plots, and Beatrice had enlisted the help of experts to ensure that the new grounds could be used by all, abled or otherwise. 

“Your Majesty! Thank you so much for this opportunity!” Jana Monroe said, bobbing into a curtsy. 

“Jana, are you going to say that every time we see each other? Your work is exemplary, you’ve earned it. And what have I said about the curtsying?” Beatrice said, smiling at the landscape architect she’d hired for the job. She’d liked Jana immediately. Jana had a mass of curly hair, and always wore red lipstick that set off her dark brown skin. She’d earned her numerous degrees at the University of Texas, and she wore a pair of white cowboy boots that would have looked ridiculous on Beatrice but looked incredibly chic on Jana. 

“I know, I just get excited.”

“So, what’s on for today?”

“Come with me!” Beatrice followed Jana down the winding pathway, further from the Palace and further from her brooding boyfriend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the things I want most for Bee are: 1) a good therapist, 2) friends that don't give a damn that she's queen, and 3) a genuine support system for her in her role as queen. my girl is tough, but hoo boy is she a bit of a mess in Majesty (an understandable mess, but a mess nevertheless). another thing that struck me is how little staff there are in the palace, which seemed weird since in this world Bee would be the equivalent of the president. she's commander in chief! is there a situation room in the palace? I have many questions lol.
> 
> I truly haven't written fiction in ages, it felt really good to have the inspiration again! there isn't much of an online presence for these books outside of instagram, but posting here will hopefully keep me motivated. I truly never stop talking, so comments are most welcome.


	2. Chapter 2

_and i’ve always been a go-getter_

_there’s truth in every word i write_

_but still the growing pains, growing pains_

_they’re keeping me up at night_

_growing pains – alessia cara_

**May 2021** _\- Monday_

“ _Queen Demolishes Western Wing of Palace_. Can the _Daily News_ be any more dramatic?” Beatrice glanced over her coffee cup at her sister. “You didn’t _demolish_ anything.”

“To be fair, I did take a sledgehammer to that fireplace in the study,” Beatrice said, flipping through her own newspaper. 

“That fireplace was hideous. It deserved what it got.” Samantha scoffed further at the article. “They say you’re destroying ‘centuries of history and flagrantly breaking with tradition.’”

“Have they been talking to Mom? That’s what she accused me of doing when I told her I was knocking out all of those guest rooms.” Beatrice and Samantha had been renovating a portion of the Palace to make room for office space for the staff they were in the process of hiring. The media, as expected, had not been pleased. 

“I have to tell you, Beatrice, it’s been fun having you take all of the heat from Mom lately,” a male voice came from the doorway. Prince Jefferson slouched into the seat on the other side of Beatrice, reaching to steal the bagel on her plate. 

“Get your own! Jeff!” Beatrice groaned as her brother licked the top of the bagel before she could snatch it back. “What are you even doing up? It’s 6 a.m.” 

“You are making the assumption that I’ve been to sleep. Is there more coffee?”

“Jefferson —” 

“Oh, don’t start, Beatrice. I know, I know. I’m embarrassing the family, blah blah blah. I got this lecture from Lily last week,” Jefferson said, referring to their mother’s secretary. 

“I was just going to say that this isn’t the first time you’ve been out all night this week. You’re starting to worry me.” Beatrice looked at her brother for a moment. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his skin practically oozed the remnants of last night’s escapades. “Peanut, I think maybe —”

“Oh, don’t _Peanut_ me. I’m fine, okay? You can both stop looking at me like that.”

Beatrice exchanged a glance with her sister. Sam shrugged, clearly not interested in starting a fight this early in the morning. She felt a little guilty about pulling out her childhood nickname for Jeff, but he had genuinely been worrying her lately. While Samantha had been promoted to heir, and all of the work that entailed, by their father’s death, Jeff’s place in line hadn’t changed in any meaningful way. Both of his sisters would have to die without having children before the throne ever passed to him. 

“Game’s on tonight,” Beatrice said, changing tactics. “I should be done by 6, you want to watch in the theater? I can probably convince Chef Greg to make pigs in a blanket if we hide them from Mom.”

“Bribing me with hockey and meat in dough is a low blow, Beatrice,” Jeff huffed. “But I’m in.”

“Your Majesty, car’s ready.” Mike stood in the doorway. 

“Thanks, Mike. I’ll see you two later?” Beatrice looked at her brother, arching an eyebrow. 

“ _Yes_ , Beatrice. But you better not be lying about the snacks.”

“I’ll talk to Chef Greg on my way out.” She ruffled Jeff’s hair as she passed behind him, grabbing her bag from where it sat on the floor. 

“So we’re watching hockey tonight?” Mike asked as they made their way through the Palace.

“Oh, did you think you’re invited? Sorry, Mike, no old guys allowed,” Beatrice joked. 

“My thirty-three-year-old eyes probably won’t be able to see the screen, that’s true.”

“Thirty-three?” Beatrice looked aghast. “You’re going to die soon! Should you even be guarding me in your advanced age?”

“You must have had them rolling in the aisles at those Whiffenpoof dinners.”

“First of all, I went to Harvard, the Whiffenpoofs are from Yale. Second, they’re an all-male acapella group.”

“I don’t know what you Ivy League people do. You forgot to talk to the chef,” Mike said as he opened the door leading to the carport. Two more Guards, Petey and Gina this time, stood at the car.

“Shoot!” Beatrice spotted one of the Palace footmen. “Jack, could you please ask Lydia to call down to the kitchens and grovel with Chef Greg to make snacks for the game tonight?”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

“Thank you!” Beatrice yelled after him. 

Beatrice slid into the backseat of the SUV, Mike followed behind. 

“Morning, Coop.”

“Good morning, Your Majesty,” her driver replied. “More interviews today?”

“You know it. Right after I meet with the director of the Washington Food Bank. Fingers crossed, I’ll end the day with a chief of staff.”

Beatrice pulled out her iPad, opening the folder of resumes for the candidates who had made it through her and Samantha’s first two rounds of eliminations. When they’d announced publicly that the palace was hiring a whole new crop of staff, the applications had come pouring in. As had the phone calls from dukes and lords, “recommending” their sons or grandsons or nephews for various positions. Beatrice had noted with little surprise that very few of them had called to suggest that a female relative would be a good addition to her team. 

“Who’s up first?” Mike asked. “That woman from Miami?” 

“Silvia Rojas, yeah. I really like her, but I think she might actually be a better fit for Sam. She’s got a ton of media experience, and she helped lobby Congress to pass that early childhood development and education package two years ago. Hey, Coop, do we have time for Starbucks?”

“Didn’t you just have coffee?”

“It’s a 30-minute drive, Mike! Do you _want_ to deal with me going through caffeine withdrawals?” 

“Petey, go sweep the Starbucks drive thru on 5th,” Mike said into his earpiece. Beatrice saw a silver sedan pull out from behind them, accelerating forward to turn left in front of them. 

“I still think it’s insane that you guys do that. You think someone is lying in wait to assassinate me at Starbucks before business hours? I’ve been through a drive thru without you before, I didn’t get shot in the head,” she said, thinking of the time Teddy had taken her to McDonald’s. Not the most conventional of dates for a queen, but it had been nice of him to try to make her life at least seem normal for a few minutes. 

“I know, and you’re never doing that again. Absolute insanity that they were letting you run amok like that.”

“Mike, seriously. Lighten up.” Mike had ranted to her multiple times over the last few months at what he called ‘the incompetent state of her protective detail’ prior to Ron’s security updates.

“Can’t, this is my constant state of being.” 

“Hard to believe you can’t get a date.” Beatrice leaned forward as the car pulled into the drive thru lane, “Coop, get something for yourself too. Mike?”

“Black coffee. And how am I supposed to get a date, exactly? I spend every waking moment with you.”

“You have Tuesdays off!” Beatrice handed her wallet forward. The currency with her face on it had gone into circulation after her coronation in January and she still didn’t like looking at it.

“I spend Tuesdays catching up on all of the sleep I missed during the week because my protectee is a vampire.” Beatrice rolled her eyes.

“Always so dramatic. Now, read this resume for communications director. Too much padding, you think? Or do they seem genuine?” Beatrice handed him her iPad as Cooper turned in the driver’s seat, passing back a drink carrier and chocolate croissant. 

“I can’t wait for you to hire a staff so you can stop bugging me with these things.” He took the iPad, scrolling through the contents of what must be the hundredth resume she’d shoved at him.

“You and me both, trust me.”

The reason that Beatrice was hardly sleeping lately was precisely because she was essentially running the Queen’s office by herself. She had Lydia, who had come out of retirement to continue on as Queen’s Secretary, but the two of them wouldn’t be able to maintain this for long. Beatrice had already given Lydia the go-ahead to hire a full secretarial staff, and to keep her eye out for a good personal assistant candidate. Beatrice had her trusty color-coded planner, but when she was often scheduled for a meeting with her economic advisor, a charity lunch, and a security briefing all for the same 45 minutes, even she had a hard time keeping everything straight. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

_Still Monday_

Beatrice put her head down on her desk, groaning loudly. She’d had three interviews today for chief of staff, and so far none of them had stuck. She’d been right that Silvia Rojas would make a good fit for her sister; the two of them had hit it off and were currently down in Sam’s new office, already plotting some new social media strategy. Beatrice wished she could get along with people as easily as Samantha did. Mike, Lydia, and Gina had all reminded her throughout the day that she had a penchant for Resting Bitch Face. While Beatrice thought that was a wholly sexist concept, she did have to admit that she could probably stand to be a little more approachable during these interviews. Of course, it would help if the candidates stopped genuflecting so much.

A sharp knock broke her from her reverie. She bolted upright, but the briefing memo she’d been leaning on stayed stuck to her forehead, negating any appearance of composure. 

“Your Majesty, Lena Crawford is here,” Lydia said.

“Lena Crawford?” Beatrice quickly rifled through the resumes on her desk. “I don’t have a Lena Crawford.”

“I added her.”

“You added her?” Lydia wasn’t in the habit of doing things without direction from Beatrice.

“Yes. Here’s her resume. She clerked for Tom while she was in law school.” Lydia was referring to her late husband, who had been a district court judge in Washington before his passing. Beatrice had liked Tom the few times she’d met him. 

“So this is what, a personal favor?”

“No, Your Majesty. I actually had to convince her to even show up today. Please, just talk to her. If it’s a waste of your time, you can yell at me later.” 

Beatrice was annoyed at the deception, but she trusted Lydia. She’d been her grandfather’s secretary, and hadn’t hesitated when Beatrice called her to ask if she would consider returning to Washington Palace.

“Alright, I’ll give her a shot. Give me five, would you?”

“Of course. Thank you, Your Majesty.” Lydia closed the office door on her way out.

Beatrice quickly scanned Lena Crawford’s resume. Based on the year she’d graduated college, she was about six years older than Beatrice. She’d attended a state university for both her undergraduate studies and law school. Not outwardly prestigious, but she had graduated summa cum laude from both, and Beatrice knew from experience that that was typically harder to do outside of the notoriously grade-inflating Ivy League. She had clerked for Tom Morgan, as Lydia said, before becoming an associate at a large law firm in New York whose name Beatrice vaguely recognized. Lena had only stayed for a little over a year, however, and appeared to currently be chief of staff for the deputy mayor of Philadelphia. Not exactly experienced enough to have applied for the Palace job, but there must have been some reason Lydia convinced her to come down here. _I should at least give her a shot_ , Beatrice thought. _Most people think I’m too inexperienced for the job too_ , she added darkly.

Lydia knocked again.

“Your Majesty, this is Lena Crawford.” Beatrice popped up, rounding her desk. The first thing that she noticed about Lena Crawford was that she had an amazing yellow skirt on. The second thing she noticed was that she seemed just as put-out by Lydia’s meddling as Beatrice felt.

“Ms. Crawford,” Beatrice said, sticking her hand out. Since Mike, Beatrice had found the offered handshake to be a good barometer of how someone would act around her. 

“Lena, please.” Lena’s handshake was firm, and she looked Beatrice in the eye. _Good start_.

“I’ll leave you two to it.” Lydia retreated from the room.

Beatrice started back toward her desk, catching a glimpse out her window.

“Actually,” she said, turning around. “Would you mind if we did this outside? I’ve been in this room since 9:30 this morning.”

“Oh. Um, sure.” Beatrice saw Lena glance down at her shoes. Spiked heels, very cute, but not exactly ‘walk through the gardens’ attire. An idea struck her.

“What size shoe are you?”

“Um, a 9.” Lena still looked unsure.

“Perfect, me too. Come on,” she gestured toward the door. “Lydia, we’ll be outside. Emergencies only.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.” Lydia half rose out of her seat as Beatrice hurried through the room. No matter how many times she told her not to worry about it, Lydia refused to sit while Beatrice was standing.

Beatrice began walking through the Palace, glancing back to make sure Lena was following. 

“Seriously, kid, where’s the fire?” Mike jogged slightly to keep up with them.

“Oh, Lena Crawford, this is Mike Lawson. Mike, Lena. Lena is interviewing for chief of staff.”

“Ma’am,” Mike said, tipping his head.

“Nice to meet you,” Lena said to Mike. “Your Majesty, I thought we were going outside?” She turned back to Beatrice, clearly confused by the fact that they were now walking upstairs.

“Oh, we are. But we need better shoes.” They had reached the door to her suite. 

“Your Majesty -” Mike started, clearly wondering if Beatrice was about to let a complete stranger into her room.

“Chill, Mike. I don’t think she’s going to stab me. Are you going to stab me?” She directed this to Lena.

“No, Your Majesty. I -” Lena’s eyes widened. 

“You can call me Beatrice. Your Majesty gets clunky.” _Another test_. Robert had acted like she’d suggested they sell off the Crown Jewels when she’d asked him to call her by her first name.

“Oh, well. Are you sure?” Beatrice led them into her closet.

“Quite sure. Here, those should fit.” She handed her a pair of black Converse. “I think I have a new package of socks in here somewhere…”

“Your Maj - Beatrice. This really isn’t necessary.” _Test passed_.

“The gardens are still half torn up. Do you want to get dirt all over your Jimmy Choos?”

“You know your shoes,” Lena said, tentatively stepping out of her heels.

“When you have to walk around in heels as much as I do, you get picky,” Beatrice said, slipping off her own pair. “Sorry, I’m being weird, aren’t I?”

“I mean, I’ll admit I didn’t expect part of this interview to take place in your closet,” Lena said, smiling slightly. “But it’s not that weird.”

“Seriously, you can tell me if it’s weird. My sister says my interpersonal skills could use some work.”

Shoes changed, Beatrice led them back out into the hallway. Mike followed closely behind, and Jake and Colin appeared at the doors leading to the portico. 

“You’ve got an excuse though. I’d imagine most people don’t treat you normally.” Lena looked around wildly, clearly taking in the trappings of the Palace.

“Not really, no,” Beatrice chuckled. “Kids in school treated me more like a leper than anything. Someone started a rumor that I had the power to throw people in the dungeon.”

Lena laughed. “Are there even dungeons in the Palace?”

“None that I’ve found, and the twins and I spent a lot of time looking when we were kids.” That was before their grandfather had died, their father became king, and Beatrice became next-in-line. Before Beatrice had locked her true self away in a vault. Only one person had really seen her at her most vulnerable. Beatrice quickly chased away any thought of him though. 

They’d reached the garden renovations. Beatrice slowed down to inspect the new playground equipment. It was the kind of playground she’d always dreamed of when she was a kid. Full of slides and rope bridges and tunnels and hiding places. She ran her hands over the coated chains on the swings.

“Are you close with your siblings, then? The press always acts like you’re one big happy family.” 

Beatrice appreciated the bluntness of the question.

“Pretty close, I guess.” She paused. “Well, we’re trying. The twins have always been close, obviously. But after Dad became king, the dynamics all kind of changed.” 

“Yeah, I’d imagine,” Lena said. “Growing up here would be weird.”

“My barometer for ‘weird’ probably isn’t the best. I’ve never known anything else.” Beatrice sat down in one of the swings, pushing lightly at the ground with her foot. Lena stood awkwardly for a moment, before joining her.

“This is really cool, by the way. Opening up the grounds like this,” Lena said. 

“Oh, thank you. It’s not much, really,” Beatrice said. “I don’t know how much people really care about the Palace gardens.” She started twirling the bit of hair behind her ear around her finger, looping and pulling tight.

“Studies show that being outside is imperative to children’s physical and mental health. And your family owns the biggest tract of undeveloped land in this part of the city. The next closest park is over four miles away. And I read about all of the experts you consulted, the designers and contractors you hired to do it. You clearly put a lot of thought into it.”

Beatrice had put a lot of thought into it. She knew her mother, along with the rest of the Washington elite, weren’t too pleased with her renovations. No one had explicitly told her that she was “inviting in the riff-raff,” but Beatrice knew that was what most of them were thinking. 

Lena was right. The way she and her siblings had been raised was weird. Beatrice often found herself wondering how she was expected to lead a country of hundreds of millions of people that she had very little in common with. She’d never had a summer job, or gone to prom, or snuck out of the house in high school. Hell, she didn’t know how to turn on a stove. The only reason she’d even learned to drive was because Ron had insisted she take defensive driving lessons as a teenager.

“I was kind of surprised, actually. No offense to your ancestors, but you royals can be pretty elitist. I mean, what’s with all of the parties, and the guest lists? And do you really need so many houses? How many do you even _have_?” 

Beatrice’s eyebrows shot up. 

“Oh my god, I shouldn’t have said that!” Lena clapped a hand over her mouth. “I’m so sorry —”

She stopped talking, likely because Beatrice was doubled over laughing. 

“You’re hired,” Beatrice said, grabbing at the chain to keep herself from toppling out of the swing. She could see Mike roll his eyes. 

“I’m — what?” 

“No one talks to me that way. I’m sure they talk _about_ me that way, but no one talks _to_ me like that. I want to actually do something with my time as Queen, and I’m going to need someone who isn’t afraid to tell me when I’m acting too royal. So, what do you say? You want to be chief of staff for the first Queen of America?” 

Lena looked a little shell-shocked. 

“I —,” she started. She shook her head slightly. “You haven’t even interviewed me!”

“I’ve interviewed you plenty.” Beatrice felt a swirl of nerves in her stomach. She couldn’t explain it, but she knew that Lena was what the Palace needed. What she needed. She twisted herself back and forth in the swing, hoping Lena felt the same. 

Lena was still looking at her slightly slack-jawed. _I really do need to work on my interpersonal skills_ , Beatrice thought.

“What salary are we talking?” 

Beatrice let out another peal of laughter. 

“Good answer. Let’s go discuss details. I think we need coffee and madeleines.” She popped up out of the swing, sending it flying backward.

“Oh, now you’re talking. I _love_ madeleines.”

“I knew I liked you, Lena Crawford. First, cookies. Second, you can help me figure out how to get my Minister of Agriculture to stop talking to me like I’m an idiot.”

“That’s Johnson, right? Is he as pompous as he comes across in those Farm Aid commercials?” 

“Oh my god, you have no idea.”

She and Lena began walking back toward the Palace, trading stories back and forth of all the times men had explained their own jobs back to them. Beatrice felt a bubble of excitement that she hadn’t felt since she and Samantha had first agreed to hire new staff. Maybe, just maybe, things would finally work out the way she’d planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have spent way too many hours psycho-analyzing Beatrice's character lol. I love her so much, but she has Problems she should work on. She really needs a strong support system both personally and professionally. I also really missed Jeff in Majesty (I feel like his family forgot he existed), and so expect a lot more Washington sibling interactions throughout this. 
> 
> Also re: Bee and Jeff watching hockey. I thought it was actually kind of weird in Majesty that Bee had apparently never thrown a baseball? She's an American princess and she's never played America's favorite past-time? We see Jeff playing basketball, and Bee talks about going for runs with her dad and in college so she's definitely active. I guess it makes sense that she wouldn't have been on a softball team as a kid, but I would think at least her family would have played some sports together, since her dad seemed to be athletic? They definitely did winter sports. I'm overthinking this. Anyway, my headcanon is that the Washington siblings are actually big fans of all the Washington sports teams.


	3. Chapter 3

_imma do it like it ain’t been done_

_on top only just begun_

_better believe i'll be your number one_

_imma do it like it ain’t been done_

_and i hope you’re holding on_

_cause i'm going, going gone_

_ain’t been done – jessie j_

_Friday Night_

Trust her mother to ruin her good mood. Queen Adelaide stood in the doorway to her daughter’s bedroom, her hair perfectly curled against her shoulders. 

“Beatrice, sweetheart, are you _sure_ about all of these new people? It seems awfully sudden.”

Beatrice had had this conversation with her mother half a dozen times in the past few months. 

“Mom, I’m sure. Just like I was sure the first six times you asked. And it’s not sudden, my coronation was six months ago,” Beatrice replied. 

“Well, how is Teddy feeling about it?” Her mother reached up to adjust Beatrice’s earring. Beatrice pulled her head out of reach. 

“Why do people keep asking me that?" Beatrice threw up her hands. "What does Teddy have to do with my staffing decisions?” 

“Teddy is a big part of your life, Beatrice,” her mother said. “You’ll be married someday.”

“We _aren’t_ married, though. And even if we were, I’m Queen. Did you have any input over Dad’s hiring decisions?” Beatrice knew the answer. Adelaide had never had any interest in the political side of the monarchy. 

“What do you mean, ‘if’ you were married? You only postponed the wedding.” Adelaide again reached toward her daughter, this time to adjust the strap on her dress. 

“Yeah, indefinitely, Mom. You notice I don’t wear an engagement ring?” She relented to her mother’s fussing, if only to hurry the conversation along. 

“Beatrice! Are you and Teddy having problems? Couples can work through those. Your father and I always did.” She fussed with the skirt of Beatrice's gown.

“Mom, if I want your relationship advice, I’ll ask for it.” Adelaide recoiled slightly. 

“Yes, of course.” She straightened, pulling her shoulders back in a move Beatrice had seen hundreds of times. “I’ll see you downstairs.” 

Beatrice felt bad for snapping at her mother. She was just trying to be helpful. Her parents had loved each other, and Beatrice knew that her mother just wanted her daughter to have the same experience. Besides, there wasn’t a reason for Beatrice to get so defensive. She and Teddy were happy. 

As though summoned by her thoughts, Teddy materialized in the doorway her mother had just vacated. 

“You ready?” he asked.

“Just about,” Beatrice smiled at him. “Do you know if Minister Clearwater is here?” 

“I think I saw his wife downstairs when I came in. Why?” Teddy looked in the mirror above her dresser, adjusting his bow tie. As usual, it matched Beatrice’s gown. Pale blue tonight. Beatrice’s stylist always sent a sample of her looks to the Palace seamstress, so that a perfect match could be made. The public loved the detail.

“I need to talk to him about fire prevention strategy in the national parks out west. I was reading a report from the General Accounting Office earlier and they said that over two million acres —”

“You’re going to corner the Minister of the Interior at a fundraiser for the American History Museum to talk about forest fires?” Teddy chuckled. 

“He’s been avoiding me! With the effects of climate change—” Beatrice was cut off by Teddy’s mouth against hers. She clutched at his lapels, teetering slightly on her heels. 

“You really have to stop interrupting me like that,” she said when he let her up for air. 

“I can’t help it that you’re cute when you talk politics.” He kissed her forehead. 

Beatrice turned away, grabbing her clutch off the nightstand. She knew he meant it as a compliment, but Beatrice felt a twinge of annoyance that she couldn’t quite pinpoint. 

“Actually, would you mind me bouncing my questions off you? See if they make sense?” 

“I’m from Boston, Bee. I don’t know anything about wildfires,” he said, holding the suite door open for her. Mike stood at attention in the hallway, as always. She smiled at him in greeting before turning back to Teddy, leading them down the hallway.

“I don’t need you to _answer_ my questions. Just let me know if I sound like an idiot.”

“You never sound like an idiot,” Teddy said, throwing his arm around her and giving a squeeze. 

Mike snorted. Beatrice shot him a glare over her shoulder. 

“Never mind. I’m sure it’ll be fine. You might be right, anyway. Maybe tonight isn’t a good time to ambush him.” Teddy nodded noncommittally. Beatrice heard Mike make another disgruntled noise. 

They reached the Door of Sighs. Petey and Colin stood on either side, ready to follow Mike into the crowded ballroom. A footman banged a metal-tipped cane against the marble floor. 

“Her Majesty the Queen!” Beatrice sucked in a breath. She still wasn’t used to that meaning her. She often found herself wishing she could ask her dad how long it had taken him to feel like the sovereign. But such was the nature of the position. The time you really needed your predecessor would only ever come after they were dead. 

Teddy fell a step behind her as she walked through the door. 

Beatrice had barely had time to acknowledge the crowd when she felt an arm slip through hers.

“Heads up, Jeff brought Daphne,” Sam said through her teeth, smiling at the partygoers who had already begun to gather around them. Beatrice and her siblings had long ago perfected the art of talking without moving their lips. They usually used the skill to make fun of their aunt’s hats at events, but it also came in handy in moments like this.

“Ugh,” Beatrice groaned. “I already have to fake-smile for hours, now I also have to keep from murdering my brother’s girlfriend?” She lifted her left hand to wave at Veronica Martin, the chief curator at the museum. Beatrice hoped she’d be able to get away from the Washington elite quickly; the museum had worked with the Navajo Nation on a new exhibit that she was dying to talk about.

“I know. Nina was down here, but I told her she could go hang out in my room until it’s over.” Sam snatched a flute of champagne off a passing tray.

“You don’t have to stay the whole time if you don’t want to. I can handle it,” Beatrice told her. 

“I know you can handle it, Bee, but you don’t have to handle it by yourself.” 

“Teddy’s here,” Beatrice reminded her. She glanced around now, not actually sure where he’d gone once they’d entered the room. She finally spotted him talking to Gregory Dalton. Beatrice wrinkled her nose. Hopefully Dalton would be satisfied only speaking to Teddy tonight - he was the owner of the biggest oil producer in Montana, and Beatrice would have a hard time being cordial to him right now. His company had just announced plans to put a pipeline through a huge swath of the Midwest. Although Dalton would need congressional approval, Beatrice knew he had an army of lobbyists poised at the ready. 

“He sure is good at schmoozing,” Samantha said. Beatrice assumed her sister was referring to Dalton, but when she glanced over at her, Samantha’s eyes were trained on Teddy.

“Aren’t we all?” 

“You don’t _schmooze_ , Bee.” Samantha rolled her eyes. “You’re diplomatic.”

Beatrice laughed at her sister’s clarification, shaking her head. “Whatever you say, Sam.” 

Although Samantha had forgiven Beatrice for the whole Teddy debacle, Beatrice wasn’t entirely positive that Sam had forgiven Teddy. Or at the least didn’t trust him completely. Beatrice supposed that was fair; she and her sister had a lifetime of history, whereas Teddy had done nothing but cause Samantha pain during their short-lived relationship. Beatrice found herself wondering if Teddy had ever apologized to Sam for all of that.

Coming out of that reverie, Beatrice looked longingly at a passing tray of crab puffs. She never ate at these things. Too much risk of bad breath or stained ball gowns. Hopefully there would be leftovers downstairs in the kitchens when the night was over.

“Speaking of diplomacy,” she said. “I really should go talk to Lord Anderson. Apparently I insulted him when I told a little boy on the rope line that I’m not a big fan of asparagus.” That had been a fun conversation between her outgoing Lord Chamberlain and Lena, the former explaining that insulting one of the delegates from the agricultural belt in Orange wasn’t the best thing for the queen to do. Lena had thought it was incredibly stupid that anyone would care what Beatrice’s dietary habits are. Beatrice agreed, but decided not to insult her Lord Chamberlain by saying so. She had effectively fired him when she’d announced the staffing changes. She had left the offer on the table for him to interview for a position, but he had declined. He and his partner were about to have a baby, he’d explained, and this would be a good time to step back from work anyway.

Beatrice was halfway across the ballroom when her arm was grabbed again. Beatrice was expecting her sister, and was surprised to find Lena at her side, still wearing the magenta skirt suit she’d been wearing earlier that day.

“We have a communications director,” Lena said.

“Oh?” Beatrice tilted her head. She and Lena had spent the better part of the last several weeks pouring over resumes and applications, not finding anyone who really stuck out. Palace Communications Director would be in charge of the messaging from the Palace, including overseeing the press secretary and the operation of the new press pool. Every media outlet in the world was waiting with bated breath for Beatrice to make that hiring decision. For decades the only press passes issued were those for the royal rota, whose primary job was to do human interest pieces on the Washington family, and who were almost never granted access to the Palace itself. The introduction of a press corps to be stationed at the Palace was unprecedented.

“She’s outside. I had to fight with your Guards to even let her past the gate. Are they always that rude?”

“Ron has them all on edge, convinced I’m going to get shot in the head at any second,” Beatrice said. The Revere Guard could be a little overbearing, but they had a difficult job. Beatrice knew their training exercises included exactly that scenario, and that one of her Guard’s jobs was simply to stand in front of her. To take whatever bullet was meant for her. 

“Well, anyway, I’ve found us a communications director, and she’s outside, and she’s very confused right now, so try not to drag her into your closet.” Lena’s braids whipped over her shoulder as she glanced around the room. “How do you get out of this place anyway?”

“Come on,” Beatrice laughed. She saw Mike track them across the ballroom, meeting them at the far doors. 

“Are we Irish goodbye-ing?” he asked, clearly excited about a potential act of rebellion from the queen. Mike hated these types of events, and he often reminded Beatrice that she didn’t legally _have_ to attend them, despite Adelaide’s insistence.

“No, we are not. Lena has snatched some woman off the street to be my communications director,” Beatrice said. 

“Not off the street! She went to Columbia! You know, you do a great job of hiding your dramatic side from the cameras.” Lena continued to drag her down the hallway, out toward the gardens. 

“Did this have to happen right now? I look like an idiot.” Beatrice glanced down at her gown, yards of pale blue taffeta swirling around her as they walked. She at least didn’t have a tiara tonight, although her earrings were large and diamond-encrusted.

“That dress is killer, don’t worry about it. If she’s going to work here then I imagine she’s going to see you in a few ball gowns.”

“True, it’s _a lot_ of ball gowns,” Mike said. 

“So many ball gowns,” Petey added under his breath.

The portico doors opened, revealing two additional Guards standing with a young woman. She was late-20s probably, dressed in a simple navy pantsuit. She had dark brown hair cut into a wavy bob, and her brown eyes widened at the sight of the queen. 

“Your Majesty,” she dipped into a wobbly curtsy.

“Oh, please, you don’t have to do that,” Beatrice reassured her. _Alright, Lena, who’d you bring me?_ she thought. She stuck her hand toward the woman.

“Beatrice.”

“Penelope. De la Vega. Penelope de la Vega.” Despite her slight stammering, she returned Beatrice’s handshake firmly. 

“Well, Penelope de la Vega, Lena tells me you’d make a good communications director.”

“I was really just bouncing some ideas off of her – ” Penelope began.

“Pen and I ran into each other down at Cornwallis Inn. We met while I was in New York, she’s from the Bronx. She’s been down here working for the Speaker of the House of Tribunes, but she’s been thinking – ”

“Lena, you think maybe she wants to tell me some of this?” Beatrice laughed. 

“Right, sorry. Go ahead, Pen.” Lena gestured.

“Well, Lena’s right about that. I am currently at the Speaker’s office, but I’m a relatively low-level staffer. I’m in charge of media strategy, and – ”

“And her talents are being _wasted_ ,” Lena interjected again.

“Lena, seriously, you’re going to give Penelope a complex. If you think she’d make a good communications director then let’s allow her to _communicate_.” Despite her admonishing tone, Beatrice was thrilled that Lena was so excited.

“Sorry! I’m shutting up, I promise.” Lena mimed zipping her mouth shut, showing that both her lipstick and her nail polish matched the color of her suit. Beatrice motioned for Penelope to continue.

“I’m in charge of media strategy for Speaker Whitlow. As I’m sure you’re aware, Speaker Whitlow is a tad old-school – ”

“He’s just old, you mean,” Lena whispered. Beatrice knocked her with her elbow. Penelope smiled, watching the queen and her chief of staff interact.

“How long have you two known each other?” Penelope asked.

“Three weeks?” Beatrice looked to Lena for confirmation, who nodded. Penelope’s eyebrows shot up.

“Okay, well we’d start there,” Penelope said.

“Start what where?” Beatrice asked, confused.

“No offense, Your Majesty, but you have a tendency to come across a little…” she trailed off.

“Like a frigid bitch?” Beatrice supplied the phrase Samantha had used after Beatrice’s last television appearance.

“No! Not at all, I promise. It’s just, a little _too_ polished? Robotic, I guess I mean. You’re a person though, and I think the country needs to see that. Not the fake version of that, with the press rota following you on ski trips, but the real version.”

“Hear her out,” Lena said, reading Beatrice’s mind.

“I don’t mean that you need to reveal all of your deep inner thoughts, Your Majesty,” Penelope hastened to explain. “You give plenty to this country already. But I think part of your strength as a monarch is that you are a 23-year-old woman. For so long the royal family, really all nobles, have acted like you’re an exclusive, impenetrable club. But you’re the head of the executive branch. You have enormous power and responsibility that has the potential to affect every person in the country. Clearly you know that, or you wouldn’t be making the changes you already are. I think it’s time for the country to see you as more than a pretty girl in a dress who’s really good at waving.”

Beatrice looked at Penelope for a beat longer before turning to Lena.

“Alright, I see what you mean,” she conceded.

“Told you,” Lena said, tossing her hair behind her shoulder. Lena’s next statement was interrupted by a loud growl emanating from Beatrice’s stomach. She hadn’t eaten since breakfast. She glanced back through the doors leading into the Palace, wondering who had noticed she was gone from the party. Samantha was likely covering for her. As her stomach growled again, an idea struck her.

“Do you like crab puffs?” she asked Penelope.

“I guess? I don’t think I’ve ever had one, actually.”

“Chef Greg’s are amazing, I promise. Mike, can you check if the coast is clear to the kitchens?” Mike spoke into his earpiece, and gestured for Colin to go check the hallways. 

“All clear, kid.” 

“Great. Let’s go steal crab puffs from Chef Greg and you can tell me more about your plan to make me less of a cyborg.”

Penelope smiled, and Lena did a tiny jig, clearly pleased at her staff match-making skills. 

“Relax, I haven’t hired her yet,” Beatrice said under her breath.

“You’re going to. You made the face,” Lena replied.

“Face? I don’t have a face.”

“Yes, you do,” Mike said, holding the door open for them.

Shaking her head, Beatrice led the way back into the building, toward Chef Greg’s crab puffs.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Samantha, have you seen the queen?”

“No, I haven’t seen _Beatrice_ , Teddy.” Sam hated when Teddy called Beatrice that. It would be one thing to refer to her that way to a stranger, but Samantha was her sister. She glanced toward the outer edge of the room, where Caleb stood. 

“Mike isn’t here, so she must have stepped out.”

“Mike?” Teddy tilted his head.

“Her Guard? The large, grouchy man who is with her at all times?” Samantha was going to be truly astounded if Teddy didn’t know his girlfriend’s Guard’s name. As a royal, your Guard was the person you saw the most of. Caleb could be the bane of her existence, and she his, but he was a fixture in Sam’s life. And Marshall certainly knew his name.

“Oh, right. Of course. She has so many Guards, it’s hard to keep track of them sometimes.”

“Whatever, Teddy. Go back to sucking up to oil barons,” she grabbed a crab puff off a tray. Potential stains be damned.

“You’re not for the pipeline, then?” Teddy asked, correctly assessing her tone.

“No, I am most certainly not for a four-hundred mile pipeline being built through the Midwest.” Sam wished Marshall had been able to fly out for this event. He would save her from this torture.

“It will create so many jobs though,” Teddy said, appearing genuinely confused by Sam’s vehemence.

“Really? Jobs?” Samantha feigned surprise. “All while causing untold environmental degradation, not to mention displacing potentially thousands of families from their homes? Hey, maybe if they’re lucky, the pipeline will malfunction! That’ll create even more jobs, to clean up the spill! And think of all of the health insurance claims from the people who get sickened by oil-contaminated farmland! Great idea, Teddy.” 

“I don’t know if that’s entirely fair -”

“Save it. I’m done talking to you.” She shoved a crab puff into her mouth, solidifying the end of the conversation. Sam could tolerate Teddy in short bursts when her sister was there, but one-on-one was unbearable. She wasn’t even quite sure why she was still so angry with him. She was genuinely happy with Marshall, and Sam had long ago gotten over any romantic feelings she had for Teddy. Besides, Beatrice must see something in him.

Sam spotted her brother. She was about to go tell Jeff that they should ditch the party for a movie night, but a flash of red hair stopped her in her tracks. _Daphne Deighton_. So much for that plan. Nina probably wouldn’t want to see Jeff tonight anyway. New plan.

“I’m calling it a night,” she said to Caleb when she reached him. He nodded, turning to follow her out of the ball room. It had been months since Sam had last attempted to ditch Caleb somewhere, and they’d reached a tenuous detente.

Samantha made her way through the Palace to her suite. Her mood was instantly lifted when she opened her door to find her best friend Nina Gonzalez sprawled on the floor in a nest of blankets, laptop open to an episode of the new vampire show and a roll of cookie dough next to her.

“You are seriously the best,” Sam said as she flopped onto her couch, flinging her shoes off.

“Rough night?” Nina asked.

“Most of it was alright, actually. It’s just tiring. Plus, Bee disappeared at some point so I had to cover for her. What’s happening this week?” She nodded to the laptop.

“It’s a good one. Werewolves have invaded the town and kidnapped the mayor,” Nina said, passing a spoonful of cookie dough to Sam, who grabbed it eagerly.

“Awesome. Pause it for a second, would you? I’m being slowly strangled by my grandmother’s pearls.” Samantha grappled with the necklace for a minute, getting up to toss the offending jewelry into her closet. She changed into a Harvard sweatshirt that she’d stolen from Beatrice and some old leggings before flopping down next to Nina on the floor.

“You still have to tell me how your journalism project is going,” Sam said. Nina launched into a description of her latest investigative piece, pulling her notebook out of her bag to show Sam her notes. They’d made it through three more episodes when the door to the suite banged open.

“I have a communications director!” Beatrice yelled. She twirled into the room, flinging herself onto the velvet sofa. Nina snatched at the cookie dough before Beatrice’s skirt could drag through it.

“Is that where you disappeared to? Thanks for the heads up,” Sam said, arching an eyebrow at her sister.

“I know, I’m so sorry for ditching you, Sam.” Beatrice sat up. “I really didn’t mean to. Was anything too awful?”

“No, it was fine. Your night sounds more exciting though. Do tell.” Nina rolled over too, turning to Beatrice. She was just as invested in Bee’s changes to the Palace as Sam was.

“Lena ambushed me, she ran into an old friend from New York. Her name’s Penelope de la Vega. Grew up in the Bronx, went to Columbia. She’s with Whitlow’s staff right now, but she’s understandably not too thrilled with that assignment.” Beatrice filled them both in on the rest of the night, about Penelope’s desire to really work _with_ Beatrice on the Palace messaging. Nina perked up in particular when Beatrice mentioned Penelope’s desire to have the yet-to-be-hired press secretary do multiple daily briefings. 

“That will be amazing! You guys have so much access to information, having the Palace as a source would be such a resource for reporters and the public,” Nina said.

“I figured you’d like that part,” Bee laughed. She was excited that Nina had discovered how much she loved journalism. She was also a little jealous that Nina had been able to fall into the interest organically, rather than having it thrust upon her.

Samantha was looking at her sister intently.

“What?” Beatrice asked. “Do I have crab puff in my teeth?”

Sam shook her head, her ponytail bobbing. 

“It’s nice to see you excited about this, Bee. Usually you look like you’re on your way to a root canal when you’re doing Queen stuff.”

“This doesn’t feel like Queen stuff, I guess.” Beatrice reached up to pull her earrings off. Even with the added lobe support on the stud, she felt like they were dragging her head straight down.

“But it _is_ Queen stuff, Bee. It’s the _actual_ Queen stuff,” Sam said. “The parties and the waving and all of that is the superficial stuff.”

“People like the superficial stuff, Sam,” Beatrice sighed, sinking further into the couch cushions.

“Sure, everyone likes a little glamour, but I think you’d be surprised at how many people are looking for real leadership from the Crown,” Nina said. She sat up on a gasp, seeming to realize what she’d said.

“Not that you aren’t a real leader. Or that the king wasn’t. I didn’t mean -”

Beatrice shoved at Nina’s shoulder with the ball of her foot. 

“Chill, Nina,” she said, laughing slightly. “I know what you meant.”

Nina relaxed, leaning back on her hands. “So you have a chief of staff and a communications director. What’s next?”

Beatrice launched into the list of remaining staff that needed to be hired. With Lena and Penelope, not to mention Lydia and her Guard team offering up their opinions freely, Beatrice knew that the Office of the Queen would soon be operating at the level that it should have been this whole time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was well after midnight when Beatrice returned to her suite. Bidding goodnight to her late shift of Guards outside her door, Beatrice stepped inside quietly. She was surprised to find Teddy still awake, draped across the couch reading a book. He’d clearly showered and changed after the event tonight, his blond hair still slightly damp. Franklin, the now giant yellow lab, was asleep at the far end of the sofa.

“You’re up late,” Beatrice said, dropping her clutch and earrings onto her desk.

“Where’d you go tonight?” he asked, barely glancing up from the book.

“Yeah, sorry about that. Lena found a candidate for communications director and so -”

“You left the fundraiser to go conduct a job interview?” Teddy sat up, placing his finger between the book pages.

“Lena kind of ambushed me. We’ve looked through so many applications recently, and you know none of them were standing out. She got excited.” 

Teddy followed her into the closet, watching as she stepped out of her heels.

“People were looking for you, Bee. Gregory Dalton was hoping to speak to you.”

Beatrice shook her hair out of its updo.

“Good thing I left early, then,” she laughed, rubbing her scalp to relieve the tension from where the bobby pins had been holding her hair in place.

“Oh, so you and Samantha are in agreement then.”

“About what?” She turned, gesturing for Teddy to help with the zipper at the back of her gown.

“The pipeline. Your sister was very clear on her distaste for the project.”

Stepping out of the gown, Beatrice turned to rifle through her pajama drawer. Grabbing a pair of shorts and an old shirt of her dad’s, she shut the drawer with her hip and turned back to Teddy.

“Well, you have to see her point. There are way too many risks. Not to mention the people and wildlife it will displace.”

“You don’t think those risks are outweighed by the jobs the pipeline will create? And the decrease in dependence on foreign oil?”

“No, Teddy, I really don’t. And you know that my plan to decrease America’s dependence on foreign oil is to increase our infrastructure of sustainable energy sources.” She arched an eyebrow at him.

“Yes, but in the meantime -”

“In the meantime I’m not going to allow a billionaire to continue fracking in Big Sky country and then put a pipeline through Nebraska,” Beatrice interrupted. She walked past Teddy, into her bathroom. 

“Your father approved those fracking permits,” Teddy said, following her.

“So? I didn’t agree with him when he did that, and I don’t agree with him now.” Beatrice soaked a cotton round with eye makeup remover, pressing it into her eyelid.

Teddy met her eyes in the mirror. He opened his mouth to say something, before closing it again.

“Are you coming to bed?” he asked instead, running a hand through his hair.

“In a minute,” Beatrice said. “I need to wash the hairspray out of my hair.” 

“Alright.” Even though he’d stepped forward to drop a kiss to the top of her head before retreating to her bedroom, Beatrice got the impression that he was upset with her about something. Whether it was the conversation they’d just had, her disappearing from the party, or something else entirely, Beatrice wasn’t sure. She reached into her shower, hearing the old pipes groan as she turned the handle. She shook her hair out again, stepping in, ready to wash the rest of her party makeup off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're starting to get somewhere! i'd originally planned to have more excitement in this chapter, but the characters had other ideas. 
> 
> small caveat: I skimmed most of the second half of Majesty because I was so annoyed at the direction the characters were taking, so there may be some points where i get canon slightly wrong (i did pull out the book to check some of the congressional names, and even that little bit made me want to bang my head against a wall). i'll just keep reminding myself that the characters are still very young at the end of that book, and have a lot of growing left to do.
> 
> thanks for reading!!!


	4. Chapter 4

_I’m not a fighter, I’m not a lover either_

_I’m not winning just at the beginning of my ever after_

_and I’m a little afraid to punch above my weight_

_so I stay down, just in case_

_walking disaster – amy wadge_

**Thursday - Six Days Until the Close of the 232nd Congressional Session**

“Do you think she should stick with the ‘all who work for it’ line?” Sean Andrews, the new deputy Communications Director asked the room. He had a red pen tucked behind his ear, which he kept reaching for to frantically write edits on the speech in his lap. Beatrice and her senior staff were gathered in the new press room, which hadn’t yet been opened to the press corps. Beatrice was set to close Congress for the first time since her coronation in less than a week. _Talk about trial by fire_ , Beatrice thought of her new staff.

“It’ll play well in the northeast and the Rust Belt,” Penelope said. 

“Do we care?” Lena asked. Beatrice leaned against the podium she stood at, rocking back on her heels slightly to relieve the pressure on the balls of her feet.

“It will play well there, but it won’t play well in Orange,” Lucy Jacobs, recently-hired Palace Press Secretary, said. Her curly blond hair was in a pile on top of her head, a pencil stuck through it. Her staff’s appearances reminded Beatrice of finals at Harvard. They all looked like they were in the middle of a late night cram session for an art history exam, with hair standing on end and drooping eyes. Beatrice pushed thoughts of Harvard out of her head.

“Who do we need to worry more about coming into the next election cycle?” Sean asked. 

“Orange,” Lena and Penelope chorused. Sean grabbed his pen.

Beatrice caught sight of Lydia in the back of the room.

“Give me a second,” she said to her gathered staff. Lucy and Sean were already arguing about the syntax of the next portion of her speech.

“What’s up, Lydia?”

“Your Majesty, your mother wanted me to remind you that your grandmother is coming in in the morning from Savannah.”

Beatrice sighed. She loved her very much, but Grandmama was the epitome of judgy Southern belle. Beatrice could only imagine what she’d have to say about Beatrice’s many changes to Washington Palace.

“Thanks, Lydia. Would you mind shooting a reminder over to Sam and Jeff if you haven’t already?” Grandmama liked to pick a sibling off from the herd like an injured gazelle, prying for details about the other two. She was always convinced that they were lying to her about how they were all doing, and there was nothing Grandmama liked more than offering up life advice when she thought a grandchild was straying. Best to warn the twins well in advance.

“Of course. Thank you, Your Majesty.” Lydia retreated back through the press work area, which had been set up to accommodate reporters to work after the daily briefings.

Beatrice turned back to her staff. Mike raised an eyebrow from where he’d remained near the front of the room, silently asking if she needed to leave. She shook her head at him, walking back to the podium.

“Okay, what now?” she asked Lena.

“Education. The conservative parties are still harping on about private school vouchers, so we need to be careful how we phrase this next bit,” Penelope said. 

“Isn’t it a little hypocritical for me to come out so strongly against school vouchers? All I attended were private schools,” Beatrice asked.

“There isn’t really anything you can do about that,” Lena said. “Your parents chose your schools, right? Even college? We’ll just have to be ready with a response.”

Beatrice had actually always wondered what would have happened if she hadn’t attended the private schools she had. Oddly, it seemed to be nobility that had the hardest time treating her like a human being. Would she have been treated better by her classmates if she had attended school with children whose parents didn’t always want something from the Crown?

“I think we need to go back over defense spending,” Penelope said, her copy of the speech riddled with edits. Typically, this was the kind of speech that would have taken over a month to finalize. Beatrice had to admit that her timing on hiring was largely to blame for the rush.

“We sure we want to start off on that foot with the Joint Chiefs?” Lucy asked.

“I think Admiral Oliver already hates me, we probably can’t do anything to make that worse,” Beatrice said, flipping through her own copy. “Let’s talk about these F-18s we’re supposed to be sending to Saudi Arabia.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Friday - Five Days Until** **the Close of the 232nd Congressional Session**

“You look thin,” Beatrice’s grandmother said by way of greeting. “Doesn’t your mother feed you?”

“Mom still forgets that I’m allergic to strawberries, so I don’t know if she’s who we should be trusting to monitor Beatrice’s food intake,” Jefferson said, hugging their grandmother.

“It’s good to see you, Grandmama.” Despite her blunt greeting, Beatrice hugged her tightly. The large bumblebee brooch pinned to her lapel caught at the embroidery on Beatrice’s dress. Grandmama stroked a hand down Beatrice’s hair. 

“I mean it, chickadee. Are you okay?” she whispered before Beatrice pulled back.

“I’m good, Grandmama. Really. Or I will be after Wednesday, anyway.” 

Grandmama spotted Mike, and then Jake and Colin further down the hallway. Her eyes traveled back to Beatrice.

“You used to just have the one Guard with you,” she said, arching a drawn-on eyebrow. “Has she been getting threats?” This she directed at Mike.

“I’m not at liberty to discuss Her Majesty’s security protocol, ma’am,” Mike replied. 

Beatrice braced herself for what was bound to be a show of true Southern passive-aggression, but none came. Instead, her grandmother put her palm to Beatrice’s cheek. Her eyes were sad.

“Oh, sweetheart. I was hoping it wouldn’t be like this. I knew it would, but I was hoping.” She smoothed a thumb over her granddaughter’s cheek before turning back to Jeff. 

“Now, where on Earth are your manners? Help your poor grandmother with her bags!”

Jeff straightened up into a mock salute.

“Ma’am, yes, ma’am,” he said, reaching down to grab her suitcases and hat box.

“That’s more like it. Now, chickadee, show me what you’ve done with the place,” Grandmama looped her arm through Beatrice’s. “Your mother has been absolutely apoplectic about the whole thing, you know how she gets about change. Did you finally do something about that hideous fireplace in your father’s study? Truly, your ancestors had such horrid taste.” 

Beatrice laughed, leading her grandmother down the hall. 

“Don’t you want to sit down first? You had a long flight,” she asked.

“Beatrice Georgina, you and I both know that the flight from Atlanta is barely more than an hour. I’m old, not an invalid. I need to see if this new staff of yours is up to snuff. I won’t have any slackers working for my granddaughter.” 

Beatrice started. She didn’t need her grandmother scaring off her staff so soon after she’d hired them. Their team was still fragile.

“Oh, relax, chickadee. You’ve always had a good head on you. Unlike this one,” she said, gesturing over her shoulder at Jeff, who was struggling under the weight of luggage. “I’m sure you’ve made good hiring decisions.”

This didn’t settle Beatrice’s nerves. Despite her dig at Jeff, Grandmama was being much more effusive in her praise than usual. She turned and caught her brother’s eye. He looked as confused as she felt.

“Stop looking at me like that, you two.”

“Oh, we weren’t looking -”

“Save it. Jefferson, you can take those to my room.” Jeff peeled off down the hall, toward the staircase, up to the suite their grandmother always occupied on her stays at the Palace. Once he was out of earshot, Grandmama turned back to Beatrice.

“Are you _really_ doing okay?” Her eyes had narrowed, clearly searching for a crack in her granddaughter’s facade. 

“You’re starting to freak me out here, Grandmama. Why wouldn’t I be okay?” Beatrice chuckled.

“I worry about you, is all.” She patted Beatrice’s hand. “This is such a big job, and you’re so young. And you’ve been doing this all by yourself.”

“Teddy’s been here,” Beatrice reminded her. 

“Oh, please. As though that boy is worth a damn,” she scoffed. 

“Grandmama!” Beatrice was shocked at the acidity in her tone. “You’ve always seemed to like Teddy.” They’d met during this past Christmas, and her grandmother had seemed just as charmed by Teddy as everyone always was. Grandmama pulled Beatrice abruptly into a sitting room, shutting the door behind them. 

“When exactly were you planning on telling me that his family was having such financial troubles?” Her grandmother turned toward her, once again raising an eyebrow. Beatrice had seen her in a lot of moods before, but she’d never seen Grandmama quite so _angry_. 

“That’s Teddy’s business —”

“He made it _your_ business the moment he took your handout,” Grandmama’s voice was steely. 

“It wasn’t a handout! We were engaged! The people of Boston are my people too, Grandmama!” Beatrice’s voice rose. She was probably drawing attention, even through the closed door. 

“And that Nantucket house? That had nothing to do with the people of Boston, Beatrice.”

“He didn’t want me to —”

“But he did, Beatrice. He accepted the gift, didn’t he? If he didn’t want you to help with it then he would have never agreed to marry you. If he genuinely cared about you, he would never have asked you to do that.” 

“He didn’t _ask_ me to! When I found the papers —”

At this her grandmother tore her traveling hat off her head, flinging it forcefully onto a settee. 

“When you _found_ the papers? When was this?” Beatrice hadn’t thought it was possible for her grandmother’s voice to go even more flinty.

“At Walthorpe, I hadn’t meant to —” Grandmama interrupted again. 

“You didn’t travel to Walthorpe until after you’d set a date for the wedding.” Grandmama had found it inappropriate for Beatrice to visit her fiancé’s home, as she put it, ‘unchaperoned,’ especially so soon after the king had died. “That scheming little shit was probably going to keep the whole thing from you. He’d have married you and then drained the Palace coffers to save his idiot grandfather’s pride.” 

“Grandmama, that really wasn’t what he was going to do. He didn’t want my money. He planned to use the proximity to the Palace to stave off the debt collectors for a while, that’s all.” Beatrice hastened to defend him. Although, come to think of it, Teddy had agreed to her help fairly quickly, despite his original insistence that he wasn’t seeking it.

“Chickadee, don’t be so naive. Your parents really did you such a disservice, sheltering you the way they did. Always so worried something would happen to you.” Her grandmother’s coiffed hair shook. “And you had to go drive that boy away. He’d have told you what an idiot you were being.” She jabbed her finger at Beatrice. 

Beatrice didn’t have to ask her what _boy_ she was referring to. There was only one other _boy_ in Beatrice’s life that her grandmother had ever interacted with. During their Sunday phone calls in college, Grandmama had been _pleased as punch_ that Beatrice had a _nice Southern boy looking after her_. When Beatrice had pointed out that he was from _West_ Texas, her grandmother had waved it off. 

“Grandmama, I’d really rather not talk about him.” She felt suddenly weary, dropping into one of the antique chairs scattered around the room. 

Grandmama looked at her for a long moment, then took a deep, shuddering sigh. 

“I’m sorry, chickadee. Believe it or not, I didn’t intend to ambush you with this. Samantha mentioned it the other day, and I simply wanted to...Well, I don’t really know what I wanted to do, besides wring that Eaton boy’s neck.” She sat down opposite Beatrice, reaching over to place a hand on her granddaughter’s knee. 

“You are so young, chickadee. And you had so many decisions to make, with no one around to help you make them. I love my daughter dearly, but she is terrible in a crisis,” Grandmama laughed. “And the twins are the way they are. I just need you to know that I am always on _your_ side. And that there isn’t a single decision you’ve made in the past that can’t be undone, if you wanted to undo it.”

Beatrice sniffled slightly, looking to the ceiling to prevent any tears from actually spilling. She heard a creak outside the door, and knew that Mike was standing on the other side. Both to keep them from being interrupted and for maximum eavesdropping, most likely. She’d yell at him later. 

She placed her hand gingerly over her grandmother’s. Then, with a surge of uncharacteristic emotion, dropped to her knees beside her chair, throwing her arms around her. 

“I love you so much,” Beatrice breathed against her grandmother’s shoulder, burying her face in the padded shoulder of her blazer. 

“Oh, my chickadee. I love you too.” Her hand returned to Beatrice’s hair in long strokes, the way she’d done when she was a little girl.

They sat like that for several minutes, Beatrice breathing in the smell of her grandmother’s perfume. Always Chanel No. 19. No. 5 was too gauche, according to her. A knock sounded at the door. 

“Your Majesty, I’m sorry,” Mike poked his head in. “Ms. Crawford is looking for you.” 

“Thanks, Mike.” Beatrice stood, smoothing her dress. She held a hand out to her grandmother, pasting on a smile. “You ready to meet my chief of staff? I think you’ll hit it off. Guess where she’s from?”

“Beatrice Georgina, did you hire a Southern girl and not tell me?” Grandmama admonished her. 

Beatrice laughed. “Yes, ma’am, I did. Lena’s from Charleston.” 

“Well, what are we waiting for?” She rose, smoothing her own skirt. “I have to meet this Lena from Charleston. I’ve always said, if you want something done right, you get a Southern gal to do it.” 

Mike stepped aside to let them through the door. Beatrice socked him in the gut as she walked past. He let out a barely audible _oof_. 

“You know what you did,” she said at his questioning face. 

“You need to learn to keep your voice down, kid. And you should know that I’ve updated my list of reasons to kick that little shit’s ass,” he replied. 

“There will be no ass-kicking!” Beatrice hissed back.

“I like this one,” Grandmama said. “What was your name, son?”

“Mike Lawson, ma’am.” 

“Hmmm, not Southern,” she shook her head in disappointment. 

“No, ma’am. Pittsburgh.”

“He’s a _Penguins_ fan,” Beatrice said in a tone that implied that this was the worst thing a person could possibly be. 

“Well, that aside. I like you. Keep looking out for my chickadee here. She’s not as tough as she looks.”

“She’s plenty tough, ma’am.” Mike pulled up short, taking his usual predatory stance outside her door. “She just needs reminding of that every now and again.” He looked pointedly at Beatrice. 

“You two are not allowed to be friends. I don’t need anyone else ganging up on me,” Beatrice said as she led her grandmother into her newly remodeled office. Lena was already waiting inside, the door leading to her now-adjoining office propped open. 

“There you are! We’ve got a prob —” Lena cut herself off. “Oh! I’m sorry, you must be —”

“Lena from Charleston! Well, aren’t you cute as a button?” Grandmama hugged Lena around the middle. Beatrice stood there shell-shocked. “I’m Frances, Duchess of Savannah, but no one really cares about all of that. Call me Fran.”

Beatrice met Lena’s own wide eyes over her grandmother’s head.

“Grandmama, tell me the truth. Are you dying?”

“Oh, stop with that. You act like I never show any affection.” She pulled back from Lena, clearly inspecting her outfit further. “This green is a lovely color on you. I always say, you can never trust someone who doesn’t know their color wheel.”

Grandmama stepped back now, inspecting the room. Although Beatrice had made some changes right after her father died, the remodels for the staff offices had inspired her to actually make the room her own. She had white washed the wood paneling that had spanned the room and painted the walls a gray-toned blue, adding a stark white crown molding. The floors, which had been a rich carpet, were now hardwood. The furniture, except the desk, had been replaced. Samantha, who had been very excited about the opportunity to play interior designer, had found two antique sofas while at a flea market with Nina. The sofas were now upholstered in blue and white pinstripe, and stood on either side of a large round coffee table. The coffee table had been handmade to match the ornate sofas by a woodworker in Santa Fe that Sam had struck up a conversation with during a tour of the Southwest. The new fireplace was surrounded by a gallery wall of prints of various places around the country, which had been a part of a national high school photography competition to showcase the students’ hometowns. Behind Beatrice’s desk stood two large bookcases, an antiqued gold to match the drawer pulls on her desk, which held various trinkets that the public had handed her over the years. The bottom row of shelves contained stacks of blue filing boxes, to match the walls, that hid briefing memos, policy outlines, and other documents. 

Her father’s study had always been her favorite room in the palace, but in the year since his death it had begun to feel more like a crypt. A time capsule of a life that Beatrice was no longer living. Although Beatrice still wasn’t positive that the decor all worked together, Sam kept insisting that it did, she found herself feeling less claustrophobic in here each day. She’d even moved her father’s portrait out of the room. It now stood just outside, in the office area occupied by Lydia and Beatrice’s still-unhired personal aide. Beatrice could still see it from her desk when the door was open, guarding the entrance. 

Rather than the formal official portrait, Beatrice now had pictures of her family on the desk. Her on her dad’s shoulders in the pool at Telluride; seven-year-old twins with ice cream on their chins; her mother hugging her at her high school graduation. Even a framed drawing that her younger cousin Percy had done after her coronation. Crayon Beatrice stood on a balcony, waving at her subjects. For some reason Crayon Beatrice had purple hair, but she had been very touched by her cousin’s commemoration of the event nonetheless.

Grandmama turned slowly, inspecting every aspect of the room. She turned back to Beatrice and Lena.

“Yes, this will do.” She sat down on a sofa. Even in her 70s, Grandmama’s posture was impeccable. “Go about your business, I’m not even here.”

“She’s testing us,” Beatrice said to Lena.

“I am doing no such thing. You have a job to do, young lady, get to it. Although I would like some sweet tea.” 

Beatrice laughed, turning toward the door.

“Hey, Lydia -” she started.

“I heard, Your Majesty. It’s on its way.”

“Thank you!” She turned back to Lena. “Okay, what’s up?”

Lena seemed to remember the papers she was holding.

“That pipeline might be a bigger problem than we realized,” Lena launched into detail about the lobbying efforts that Sean had unwittingly overheard while at a bar the night before. A knock sounded from the doorway. Lena’s deputy Sara Jordan leaned into the room slightly, her red hair swaying over her shoulder. 

“Your Majesty,” she greeted Beatrice. “The pipeline?” This was directed at Lena, who nodded.

“Perfect, I have more intel. Also, there’s someone out here with a tray of iced tea?” Beatrice looked around her.

“You can bring that in, Amanda,” she said to the kitchen staff member who stood outside.

“Sorry, Your Majesty. Lydia stepped away for a moment.” Amanda set the tray on the coffee table. “Chef wanted me to ask while I was up here if you had a preference for dinner tonight, Your Royal Highness?” she asked Beatrice’s grandmother.

“Shrimp and grits,” Grandmama and Beatrice chorused. Chef Greg was from a town outside of New Orleans, and made grits the way Grandmama liked, savory, with plenty of spice on the shrimp.

“Thank you, Your Majesty. Your Royal Highness.” Amanda bobbed a curtsy.

“You’re both invited to dinner,” Grandmama said. “Even though my granddaughter’s manners are atrocious,” she glared at Beatrice, pointedly looking between her and Sara.

“Oh! Sorry. Grandmama, Sara Jordan. Deputy chief of staff. Sara, this is my grandmother, Duchess of Savannah.” She gestured between them.

“Very pleased to meet you, ma’am,” Sara shook Grandmama’s offered hand.

“Another good dresser. Call me Fran. Where are you from?”

Beatrice rolled her eyes. Her grandmother was going to have her entire staff sized up in no time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Monday - 2 Days Until the Close of the 232nd Congressional Session**

Samantha watched her sister pace across her carpet for the hundredth time.

“Bee, you’re seriously going to wear a hole in the floor.”

Beatrice had woken Sam up at five in the morning. It was now seven, and Beatrice had already done two complete run-throughs of the speech she was giving later that week.

“Are you sure this education section sounds okay? Is it too forceful?” Beatrice twirled her hair.

“It’s fine, Bee,” Sam sighed, resting her chin on her hand. She was still in her pajamas, wrapped in a blanket on the couch in her suite. Beatrice was still in the clothes she’d had on last night, her blazer and pants wrinkled and hanging haphazardly. 

“This can’t just be _fine_ , Sam!” She turns back to her sister, swaying slightly as she pivots.

“Bee, go get some sleep. It definitely won’t be fine if you die from exhaustion before Wednesday.”

Beatrice checked her watch. “I can’t, I have a staff meeting in fifteen minutes, and then a meeting with Treasury, and then -”

Samantha stood up, wrapping an arm around her sister’s back, marching her toward the door.

“Your staff can meet with you later today, and Isabella will understand if you need to push her back an hour.” Sam half-carried her sister down the hall. No easy feat, since Bee had about four inches of height on Sam, but she managed. Jake stepped forward to open Beatrice’s door for them.

“Go change,” she said to her sister. She turned back to the Guards. “Alright, you three. I don’t want to see her before 9:30. If she comes out of this room before then, I want her physically restrained.”

“I’d like to see them try,” Beatrice mumbled from inside.

“Don’t worry, Your Royal Highness,” Mike said to Sam. “You haven’t slept in 36 hours, and I haven’t seen you eat in 12, so I like our chances, kid,” he yelled through the open door. He turned back to Samantha.

“Seriously, we got her. She looks ready to pass out any second anyway.”

“Thanks, guys.” Sam had turned to head back to her own suite before she realized her error. “Sorry, Gina! Thanks, everyone?” She made a face at the awkward phrasing.

“It’s okay, Your Royal Highness. It happens all the time,” Gina said. Gina was only the third woman in history to ever make it through the rigorous training of the Revere Guard. Sam felt it was appropriate that Gina was now guarding America’s first queen.

“Well, it shouldn’t. Don’t let me do that,” Sam told her.

“Yes, Your Royal Highness.”

Samantha returned to her room. Her head had barely hit the pillow, her first event today was a luncheon for Washington teachers and it wasn’t until 12:30, when a knock sounded from the suite’s front door.

“Your Royal Highness?” Caleb’s voice called. “Ms. Gonzalez is here.”

Sam shoved her face into her pillow with a groan. So much for catching a couple more hours of sleep.

“Nina, I love you, but Bee woke me up at the ass-crack of dawn this morn…” Samantha trailed off at the look on her best friend’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“I got fired,” Nina said, pushing past Sam.

“Fired?” Nina didn’t have a job that Sam knew of. “From where?”

“ _The Cavalcade_!” Nina cried, sitting on the couch before falling sideways into the cushions.

“The student newspaper? I thought your editor loved you!”

“Not as much as she loves Palace gossip, apparently,” Nina said into a sequined cushion. Samantha was already upset for her friend, but this set her on edge.

“Gossip about what?” Sam wracked her brain, trying to think of anything even remotely dramatic that had happened recently. Her sister’s staffing changes and remodels had caused quite the stir, but that wasn’t really _gossip_. 

“Somebody who was at the museum fundraiser noticed that Beatrice disappeared early on, and there’s a rumor going around now that she’s having an affair,” Nina peaked one eye out from under the hair that had fallen over her face.

“What?” Sam yelped. “That’s _insane_. Bee wouldn’t ever cheat on anyone.” She began to pace around the room.

“Wait, what does that have to do with you? You don’t even write for the royals column.”

“Trust me, I know. But Victoria knows that I’m your friend, obviously, and that I’m here a lot. She started asking me all of these questions about Beatrice, about how she and Teddy interact, how often he’s really at the Palace, that kind of thing. I told her to shove it.” Nina put her head back in the pillow.

Sam sat on the edge of the couch next to Nina’s hip. 

“You know where Bee went that night, though. She was talking to Penelope and Lena. Why didn’t you just tell Victoria that?” She stroked Nina’s hair, which had grown past her shoulders again.

“I don’t comment on you or your family, Sam. At all, ever. If I start talking to people about the details of your lives, it not only reduces me to just ‘inside Palace source,’ but it betrays you.” Nina sat up. “What Beatrice does during cocktail parties is her own business. I’m not going to feed into that invasion of her privacy, even if it is to defend her.”

Sam felt a surge of protectiveness toward both Nina and Bee. Nina was right, of course, that even if she only spoke in defense of the queen, it wouldn’t help the situation. Sam just wished that she didn’t have to give up her position on the King’s College student newspaper to protect the Washingtons.

“Bee will be touched that you did that for her,” Sam said. “I’m sorry you lost your spot.”

“It’s okay. I was probably going to get beat out for features editor anyway. Some Duke’s son.” She rolled her eyes. “I was more angry that people are still attacking Beatrice personally. They’ve always done it to you, and they’re getting even more vicious.”

“They did it to you too,” Sam said, pulling Nina’s head onto her shoulder. Nina sniffled.

“I know, but I can escape it. People eventually got bored with me, especially after Jeff got back together with Daphne. I don’t know how you and Beatrice handle it so well.”

“Well, I can guarantee that Bee isn’t going to be thrilled about reports that she’s cheating on Teddy,” Sam said. 

“Do you think Teddy will believe them?” Nina asked. “Especially after your sister called off the wedding at the last second, everyone has speculated about what really happened.”

Nina didn’t know that Beatrice had been in love with someone before Teddy. Teddy knew about him, but she didn’t think he knew the man’s identity. Sam only knew by accident. Beatrice never spoke of him, even casually, to anyone. In Sam’s opinion, her sister had been a little hasty in her decisions the day of the wedding, but Sam wasn’t about to open that Pandora’s box.

“No, Teddy won’t believe them.” Sam resumed stroking Nina’s hair. Samantha may have her doubts about whether they were actually _in_ love, but she knew that Beatrice and Teddy did care about each other, and that they didn’t lie to each other. “Let’s go get pancakes, and formulate a plan to get revenge on _Victoria_.” Sam spat her name.

Nina laughed through her sniffling. “I love you so much,” she said, hugging Sam tighter.

“Love you too. Now, pancakes!” She stood them up, and led Nina down to the kitchens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> finally we have an adult figure in Bee's life who's paying attention to her! American Royals didn't specify which grandmother Bee talked to every Sunday, but I decided she needs a Southern grandma to knock some sense into her (or at least try to lol). my feelings about Teddy are complicated, and I'm trying really hard not to be unfair to him as a character, but I do think his whole semi-gold digging (and Bee just handing over her money) was glossed over in Majesty, and I felt that someone should have been like 'sorry, what are you doing?'. 
> 
> I totally made up the name of the King's College student newspaper - I didn't think that a mascot or anything was ever mentioned in the books, but if there was feel free to tell me haha.
> 
> Bee closing Congress was originally just one chapter, but when I looked at the word count I realized it was over 10,000 words, so I split it into two. thanks so much for reading!!


	5. Chapter 5

_the odds are stacked and you_

_you can't relax 'cause you're_

_thinking your dreams will never show up_

_i see you try for a brighter sky_

_but it looks too high and hot to hold up_

_i believe in you - ward thomas_

**Wednesday, 9 a.m. - 10 Hours Until Close of 232nd Congressional Session**

“Sara, did we get the final graduation rates out of the PNW?” Beatrice turned around to ask her deputy chief of staff. Her arm was suddenly yanked, pulling her sharply to the left. She turned back to see that Mike had prevented a collision with one of the kitchen staff members, who was rolling a large catering cart through the entrance hall. “Sorry!” Beatrice yelled after them.

“We’re still waiting on figures out of Portland and Spokane. We should have them any minute, Your Majesty.”

“Great.” She stopped walking. “I feel like I’m supposed to be somewhere right now.”

“State had some issues with the foreign policy stuff. Penelope is negotiating. The deputy minister for Middle Eastern affairs wanted an audience.” Sean said, not looking up from his briefing documents. 

Beatrice groaned. The deputy minister for Middle Eastern affairs always talked to her like she couldn’t point to Qatar on a map. Chances are this meeting would be about something asinine, like him reminding her that she shouldn’t alienate the King of Jordan in her speech tonight. As though Beatrice was in the habit of doing such things.

“Beatrice!” Queen Adelaide appeared down the hall. “Sweetheart, I’ve been looking for you everywhere. The guest list was confirmed for tonight, and I noticed that Teddy’s parents aren’t on it.” Her mother had been planning a reception for after Beatrice’s speech to Congress for weeks. Beatrice wasn’t exactly thrilled at the prospect, but there was nothing Adelaide liked more than party planning, so Beatrice let it go.

“Oh? Did you invite them?” Beatrice asked, continuing toward her office.

“Of course I invited the Eatons! Why in the world wouldn’t I invite your fiancé’s parents to celebrate your big speech?”

“Boyfriend, Mom. We’re not engaged,” Beatrice reminded her. It shouldn’t bother her so much that her mother kept forgetting the distinction.

Adelaide ignored this. “Are they alright? I just found it so odd that – ”

Beatrice cut her off. “Mom, I have no idea how the Eatons are doing. Why don’t you call them and ask, if you’re so concerned?”

“Well, has Teddy mentioned anything?” Adelaide fussed with Beatrice’s hair as she walked.

“Mom, I’ve been a little busy lately.” She tamped down the urge to swat her mother’s hand away. “Asking my boyfriend if his parents were coming to a reception wasn’t at the top of my list of priorities.”

“I supposed I can have Lily check in on them,” her mother said. They’d reached the outer office, and Adelaide took a moment to look at her late husband’s portrait. “Are you ready for tonight?” she asked Beatrice.

“Getting there, Mom.” She looked up at her. “Like I said though, I’m busy.”

“Right, of course. I’ll see you later. Did you need any help with your outfit?”

“No, Mom. The stylists are doing it.” Beatrice began pointedly going through the papers on her desk. 

Her mother took the hint. “I’ll see you tonight, then,” she said, leaving the office.

Beatrice made eye contact with Mike as her mother left. 

“That was a little harsh, kid.”

“Mind your business,” Beatrice snapped. Mike just rolled his eyes, returning to his spot outside the door.

**1:30 p.m. - 5 Hours, 30 Minutes Until Close of 232nd Congressional Session**

“Ugh!” Beatrice groaned, coffee dripping down the sides of her desk from the tipped over mug.

“Your Majesty?”

“It’s fine, Lydia!” she yelled through the door. She opened a drawer, finding a stack of Starbucks napkins inside. “This is just great,” she mumbled to herself as she dabbed at the spill. “Way to go, Beatrice. Get coffee all over your security briefings. The Joint Chiefs will definitely take you seriously now.”

“Oh, good. You’ve finally cracked,” Mike said from the doorway. She threw a coffee-soaked napkin at him. It landed with a splat on the wall, where it stuck.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have taught you to throw,” Teddy said, stepping past Mike. 

“Did we have a meeting?” Beatrice asked, rounding her desk to greet him.

“No, Bee,” he laughed. “I just thought I’d bring you something to eat.” He set a bag on the coffee table.

“Oh, thanks.” Beatrice never ate when she was stressed like this, her stomach couldn’t handle it, but it was thoughtful of Teddy to bring her something. She opened the bag, and then looked back up at him.

“I hate bananas,” she said, pulling the offending fruit out.

“Since when?” Teddy looked genuinely confused.

“Forever?”

“Sorry, I don’t know why I didn’t know that.” Teddy shook his head.

“Guess you don’t know me as well as you think you do,” Beatrice said. She’d meant it jokingly, but a brief look of hurt flashed across Teddy’s face.

“I can take it back,” he said, reaching toward her. She snatched it out of his reach, trying to ease the tension.

“No, I need more projectiles. Mike is bound to say something else stupid to me today.” Her Guard snorted.

“Are they allowed to talk to you like that?” Teddy asked, looking back toward the outer office where her three Guards stood.

Mike said something under his breath, and Beatrice heard Petey chuckle. 

“Why wouldn’t they be able to talk to me?” Beatrice said. “I’m just on edge today. Seriously, thank you for the food. I’ll see you later?”

Teddy nodded, kissing her chastely before he left the room. She saw Mike and Petey both make gagging faces. She double-checked that Teddy was gone, and then hurled the banana at Jake, who had been standing quietly in the other corner of the outer office.

“Hey! I didn’t even do anything!” he said as he caught the fruit out of the air.

“You’re all fired,” Beatrice said as she shut her office door on them. 

**4:45 p.m. - 2 Hours, 15 Minutes Until Close of 232nd Congressional Session**

“Motorcade at 6:25,” Lena said to the room. Beatrice and her staff were in the press room for one final run-through. “It’s only a five minute drive to Columbia House, but that gives us plenty of time for any mishaps.”

The rest of the staff started talking over one another again. Beatrice put her head down on the podium. Her stomach had that hollow ache of hunger, but the thought of trying to eat anything made Beatrice’s mouth fill with saliva. 

“I think this paragraph should be earlier,” Sean said.

“How much advance time do they need for the teleprompters?” Lucy asked.

“They can update in real time,” Beatrice answered, although no one acknowledged that she’d spoken. 

“I’m still not sure about this paragraph. Are we sure she should come out this forcefully?” Beatrice couldn’t even keep track of which member of her staff was talking anymore. Her eyes were already aching from squinting at the teleprompter. She really needed to see an optometrist, but there was no time to worry about that now. Her feet hurt and her head hurt and the underwire from her bra was poking her directly in a rib. 

“I need a minute,” she announced to the room. Her staff was too busy arguing to notice her slip out the side entrance. Mike followed silently behind as she made her way back to her office. Her ankle caught the edge of the sofa, a spark of pain shooting up her leg.

“Fuck!” she hissed. That was going to bruise.

“That’s a bad word,” a small voice said from somewhere in the room. Beatrice whipped her head around, searching for the source. _Now I’m really losing it_ , she thought. Maybe it was the ghost that the twins were convinced haunted the Palace. Beatrice was rounding her desk when she spotted Franklin’s tail, wagging from underneath the coffee table. She squatted down, and came face-to-face with a little girl.

Beatrice screamed. Mike was beside her before she could blink. 

“It’s okay! I’m okay!” She grabbed his right arm, which had been reaching toward his holstered weapon, while his left had already pulled Beatrice behind him. “She’s a child, Mike. She just startled me.”

Beatrice began to lean down again, but Mike dropped in front of her. 

“Oh, shit. It is a kid,” he said. Beatrice rolled her eyes. Mike looked up at the door, waving off Jake and Petey.

“Did you think I was kidding?” She kneeled down on the floor, placing her hand on the coffee table for balance as she leaned down. “Hello,” she said to the girl. She was young, maybe five or six, with a head of curly chestnut hair and freckles. Every piece of her outfit was pink, which made Beatrice smile, remembering her own obsession with the color as a little girl. The child’s eyes had gone wide, and she’d wrapped her arms around Franklin, who had spotted Beatrice and was now trying to wriggle out from under the table. 

“Do you like dogs?” Beatrice tried again. This time the girl nodded. _Progress_. The girl’s eyes traveled past Beatrice, to Mike. Beatrice shoved at his shoulder. “You’re scaring her,” she hissed. He scoffed, but got up from the floor to lean on Beatrice’s desk.

“I’m Beatrice, the grump over there is my friend Mike. What’s your name?” The girl’s arms tightened around Franklin’s middle. 

“Chloe,” the girl said into the lab’s fur. Beatrice gave Mike a triumphant look over her shoulder.

“It’s nice to meet you, Chloe. Would you mind coming out from under there?”

Chloe looked reluctant. “Can Franklin come too?” Beatrice smiled.

“Of course he can!” Chloe army crawled out from under the coffee table, followed by Franklin, who immediately jumped onto one of the couches. Chloe plopped down next to him, and resumed hugging his neck. Franklin’s tail wagged frantically. Beatrice didn’t typically allow him on her office furniture, but she didn’t want to upset Chloe by telling him to get down. Beatrice sat on the edge of the coffee table.

“Are you lost, Chloe?” she asked the little girl, who shook her head.

“I came up here with my brother. The lady who was outside took him somewhere and she said to wait in the chair over there,” she pointed out the door to the chair next to Lydia’s desk in the outer office. “But I saw your dog. And I like dogs. I tried to get him to come out there, but he wouldn’t. So I came in here. I’m sorry. Ben said I wasn’t supposed to leave the chair, but I did.”

Beatrice and Mike exchanged a look. Clearly Chloe was talking about Lydia, but that still didn’t explain exactly why she was near the queen’s office.

“Ben is your brother?” Beatrice asked. Chloe nodded, her curls bouncing. “Do you know why Ben was here?”

“He had a job interview downstairs with another lady, and she brought us up here to talk to the lady outside. I was supposed to be with our grandma tonight, but she’s sick.” Chloe had begun to swing her legs back and forth, clearly more at ease now that a Revere Guard wasn’t glowering at her.

“Do you remember where Ben and the lady went?” Beatrice asked. 

“She said something about finding the queen,” Chloe said. Her head shot up from where she’d been leaning on Franklin, her eyes going wide again. “ _You’re_ the queen.”

Beatrice nodded in confirmation. “Guilty,” she said.

“You don’t have a crown on,” Chloe eyed the top of Beatrice’s head.

“I don’t wear one around the house, usually.” Beatrice chuckled, imagining the looks her brother and sister would give her if she did casually wear a tiara around.

“Oh.” Chloe went back to leaning on Franklin, who had moved his head onto Chloe’s lap. “Why did you say a bad word before?”

“I hit my ankle on the couch.”

“I didn’t think queens did stuff like that,” Chloe said.

“What, trip on their own furniture?” Chloe nodded. “Well, I don’t know about other queens, but this one sure does. Right, Mike?” Mike made a grunt of confirmation.

“You’re funny. I didn’t think queens were funny either. You’re not funny when you’re on TV,” Chloe said. This got a legitimate laugh out of Mike. Beatrice shot a glare at him.

“I’ll tell my staff that we need to work on my jokes,” she promised Chloe.

Before Beatrice could ask Chloe if she had any more critiques of her television appearances, she heard the sound of Lydia’s heels on the outer office floor. 

“Oh, there you are!” Beatrice turned toward her secretary, who now stood in the office doorway. A man, about the twins’ age if Beatrice had to guess, stood behind Lydia. “Your Majesty, this is Benjamin McIntyre.”

Beatrice stood to shake his hand. The handshake was slightly sweaty, but firm. He and his sister had the same chestnut hair and big brown eyes.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. McIntyre. I’ve just been getting acquainted with your sister here.” Beatrice smiled at Chloe.

“She’s the queen!” Chloe told her brother.

“Yes, Chlo, I know.” He turned to Beatrice. “Your Majesty, I’m so sorry. I came in to interview for a messenger job, and I couldn’t find a sitter last minute.”

“Where are your parents?” Beatrice asked.

“They died,” Chloe said matter-of-factly, petting Franklin’s head. Beatrice grimaced.

“God, I’m so sorry, that was incredibly rude of me,” Beatrice said to Ben. He shook his head.

“That’s alright, Your Majesty. There’s no way you could have known.”

Lydia stepped in before Beatrice could apologize further. “Your Majesty, I think Ben might be a good candidate for your personal aide.”

“Oh?” Beatrice was in desperate need of a personal aide, but with the last-minute scrambling around her speech to Congress she hadn’t had time to interview anyone. 

“Yes. It was actually the prince who pointed him out to me,” Lydia said.

“Jeff?” Beatrice asked, shocked. Her brother had shown little interest in any of Beatrice’s queen duties, and even less interest in any of her staff changes. “Did you go to school together?” she asked Ben, confused as to how Jeff would know him.

“No, Your Majesty,” he said, laughing. “Sorry, I don’t mean to – I went to South High.”

South High was a public high school on the, as one would guess, south side of Washington. It was about the farthest thing from the schools the royal children had attended.

“Like I said earlier,” he continued. “I came in for a messenger job. The prince was downstairs. I guess he recognized me from the charity golf tournament that the Marquess of Wilmington puts on? I’ve been a caddy over there for a few years. He told Ms. Davis to send me upstairs?” Ben’s voice drifted upward at the end of each sentence, as though he still wasn’t sure how he’d ended up in the queen’s office.

Beatrice wasn’t sure herself what her brother was playing at.

“Give me one moment, would you?” she asked. “Lydia, I’m going to use your phone.”

She stepped into the outer office, dialing her brother’s number as she picked up the receiver on Lydia’s desk. 

“Lydia, love of my life!” Jeff answered. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Judging by the background noise, Beatrice was pretty sure her brother was at a bar. _Typical_ , she thought. 

“Cut it out, Jeff. It’s me. Why did you tell Ms. Davis to send Ben McIntyre up here?”

“He caddies over at South Port. He’s good, Beatrice,” Jeff said.

“At caddying?” Beatrice was still confused. Jeff sighed into the phone.

“No, Beatrice. Well, yes, but that’s not what I mean. You know the kind of guys who play out at South Port.” She did know. The club was frequented by every noble on the Eastern Seaboard.

“Okay, so he’s used to annoying rich people. I’m still not getting it, Jeff.” Beatrice twirled the phone cord around her finger.

“I mean he’s _good_. Like he’s a good guy. He knows how to handle the assholes out there, and he basically runs that tournament for the Marquess. Just give him a shot, would you?”

Something in her brother’s voice struck her.

“Does he have dirt on you or something?” 

“No! Jeez, what do you think this is?” Jeff said. “Look, his parents died about a year ago. He dropped out of Maryland so that he could get custody of his little sister. He’s working like four jobs right now. You need a personal aide, he needs a steady source of income that isn’t thirty miles from their apartment,” Jeff explained.

Beatrice sat in silence for a moment. She hadn’t realized her brother paid that much attention to the people around him. 

“Beatrice?” 

“Yeah, I’m here,” she answered. “I’ll give him a shot. I’m blaming you if he ends up being a master thief and he pulls a heist on the vault.”

Jeff snorted. “Sure, Beatrice. Don’t you have a speech to give or something?”

She’d actually forgotten all about that when she’d found Chloe under her coffee table, and she was a little surprised that Jeff remembered. 

“Ugh, don’t remind me.” She banged her head against the headrest on Lydia’s chair.

“Just don’t do anything to embarrass me!” Jeff hung up the phone.

Beatrice remained in Lydia’s chair for a moment, using her foot to spin in slow circles. Mike, who had followed her out, let her do this several times before he reached out and grabbed the back of the chair.

“You going to go hire him, or what? Because I gotta tell you, kid, I’m about ready to stage an intervention. You’re stretching yourself too thin. You’re snapping at everyone, and you definitely fell asleep in the Cabinet meeting last week.” Beatrice started to protest. “Don’t argue, you did. You need an aide.”

“You’re not supposed to tell the queen not to argue, you know.” She sighed. “But you have a point, I know. He seems alright, right?” she asked, looking at the other two Guards in the room. Jake nodded, while Petey gave a thumbs up. Mike shoved the back of the chair, causing her to have to stand or topple out of it. “You’re still fired,” she said to him, but walked back to her office door.

“Okay, Ben. You want to be personal aide to the queen?” Ben’s head snapped up.

“Of course!” he answered immediately. “It’s just…” he looked at his sister, who was still petting Franklin on the couch.

“Chloe is welcome here anytime. My dog already likes her more than he likes me,” Beatrice smiled. “There is going to be a lot of travel involved, but we can work that out as it comes up.”

“Your Majesty, that sounds great – ”

Beatrice held up her hand. “I hate to be abrupt, Ben, but I do have to go give a speech to a room full of people who hate me in about an hour and a half.”

“Of course, Your Majesty. We can get out of your hair,” Ben said.

“Don’t be ridiculous, I need you here,” she replied. “Mike, have Ron start Ben’s background check!” she yelled out the door. She turned back to Ben. “Have you ever been to Columbia House?”

“Once, Your Majesty. School field trip in fourth grade.”

“Hey, I went on that field trip too!” she said. “Come on, walk with me.” She gestured out the door, then turned back to the couch. “Chloe, you want to come watch me close Congress?”

“Are you going to be funny?” the little girl asked.

“Probably not, no,” Beatrice admitted.

“I want to stay with Franklin, then.” Ben looked horrified. Beatrice waved him through the door. 

“She can stay here with Lydia, it’s fine,” she told him. “ _You_ get to have a crash course in congressional procedure.” They began the walk back down to the press room.

“I know some of it already. I did a semester and a half of a political science degree at Maryland,” Ben explained. 

Beatrice nodded. “Yes, Jeff mentioned that. He said you had to drop out when…” she trailed off. 

“My parents died?” He shrugged. “We only have the one grandparent left, and she’s too old to take on Chloe full time. I couldn’t let her go into the system.”

Beatrice was struck by his tone. Ben clearly had never even considered another option. Chloe was his sister, and he would take care of her. 

“How did your parents die?” Beatrice asked. She grabbed his arm before he could respond. “You don’t have to answer that, it’s none of my business.” 

“Oh, it’s alright, Your Majesty. It was a car accident,” Ben told her. 

Beatrice sighed. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry about your father.”

“That was a long time ago,” Beatrice shrugged his comment off. 

Ben seemed to realize that her father’s death was not something Beatrice liked discussing. 

“So this speech tonight. Big deal, right?” He asked. “Just so I know what I’m in for.”

Beatrice patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, I won’t throw you to the wolves just yet. I mainly just need you to shadow me tonight, make sure I don’t miss anything. My staff can get a little over-excited.”

Ben nodded, straightening up. “I can do that,” he declared. 

She smiled, reaching for the handle on the door to the press room. “You ready?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Let’s go introduce you to the rest of the team, then.” 

**10:47 p.m. - 3 Hours, 47 Minutes After the Close of 232nd Congressional Session**

Nina pushed her way through the crowd gathered around the bar.

“Takeout order for Nina,” she yelled above the din of the other patrons. The bartender nodded, heading back toward the kitchen. 

_‘Queen Beatrice closes Congress for the summer, detailing economic improvements and plans for educational reforms’_ read the chyron below the baseball game that was playing on the large flatscreen above the bar. A cheer went up around the room as the LA pitcher struck out another Boston player.

“Nina!” Someone was yelling her name. She looked around, expecting one of her King’s classmates. What she found instead was Jeff.

“Hi, Jeff,” she said, watching him push his way through the crowded room toward her. Nina spotted Matt not far behind, his face not betraying any opinion of his protectee’s actions. 

“Nina!” Jeff yelled again, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She wrinkled her nose.

“You’re supposed to drink the beer, Jeff. Not bathe in it.” 

Jeff let out a boisterous laugh. “You’re funny,” he said. “Always so funny.”

He spotted the chyron still scrolling along the screen. “So how’d my sister do?” He pointed at the television. 

“Were you not there?” Nina asked, surprised. 

Jeff waved his hand. “Beatrice doesn’t need me around.”

Nina squinted up at him. Despite his attempt at nonchalance, Jeff seemed put out.

“I’m sure she _wanted_ you there, Jeff,” she told him. He scoffed.

Before she could press him further, the bartender reappeared, carrying two large bags of takeout.

“Let me guess, chicken nachos? Lots of jalapeños?” He tilted his head toward the bags.

“You know Sam and Beatrice well,” Nina said.

“It’s like they’re my sisters or something.” He took a swig from the beer in his hand. Nina signed the tab, sliding it back over the bar. When she looked back at Jeff, he had a faraway look on his face, as though he was remembering something.

“Did you want to come with?” she asked. “Apparently Teddy had to go back to Boston right after the speech, so Beatrice was going to watch that new serial killer documentary with us.” Nina didn’t particularly want to spend time with Jeff, but she had a feeling that she shouldn’t leave him here either.

His eyes snapped back to her. “Nah, I’m good,” he smiled. “I’ll see you later.” Before she could press him further, he started back toward his table, but stopped and turned back to Nina. “Tell Beatrice that I liked the part about better funding for after-school sports programs.”

Nina raised an eyebrow. “I thought you didn’t watch her speech,” she said. Jeff just shrugged and turned around, away from Nina.

Nina headed outside into the night air. She stepped off the curb, checking the street for traffic. As she was about to dash across the road to her yellow Jeep, she spotted another familiar face. Daphne Deighton stood a little ways away, looking down at her phone and then back up and down the street. Nina shook her head, ready to continue to her car, but something in Daphne’s face stopped her. Why was she standing out here alone while her boyfriend partied inside?

“Daphne?” Nina asked. Her head snapped up, finding Nina’s eyes. “Did you…” Nina trailed off. _Just ask her_ , Nina thought. “Do you need a ride somewhere?”

A look of surprise crossed over Daphne’s features, before she quickly rearranged her face into the scowl she always used for Nina. 

“No, thank you,” her voice was abrupt. She eyed the multiple bags of food in Nina’s hand, shaking her head in what Nina assumed was disgust. 

Nina sighed, heading across the street. She placed the food on the passenger seat floor and started the car. Nina pulled the Jeep away from the curb, heading toward the Palace. She didn’t want to bring down Beatrice and Samantha’s excitement from the night. She’d talk to them some other time about Jeff’s odd behavior. For now, she’d let them enjoy bar nachos and hours of true crime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a stressed out Bee is a grouchy Bee. in this world I'm treating closing Congress like the State of the Union (since they don't seem to have a SOTU in the American Royals world, and I think it makes more sense for the closure of the session to be more of a 'here's how the country is doing' type speech than the opening). one of the things I wanted more of out of the books was an actual look at Bee's job (she's not a figurehead! she is fully in charge of the executive branch! that's a lot of pressure on someone who is basically an infant lol). I have Big Plans for how she's going to grow into that role (and who's going to help her do that).
> 
> poor Jeff. my sweet, dumb boy. and a Daphne interaction! i'm excited for where she's heading. 
> 
> thanks so much for reading!!!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> small tw for this one - a character has a panic attack in this chapter. it's not super descriptive, but if that's something you want to avoid, it takes place from “The play-rooms are my favorite addition, I think.” to "They walked through the halls, toward her office." (within the 'Thursday - 2:17 p.m.' portion of this chapter).

_and if I were fearless_

_then I’d speak my truth_

_and the world would hear this_

_that’s what I wish I’d do, yeah_

_if my hands could open, you’d see_

_I’d take all these secrets in me_

_and I’d move and mold them to be_

_something I’d set free_

_let the rain – sara bareilles_

**August 2021**

**Thursday**

_Beatrice was running. The Charles River flowed past her. Why was she in Boston? She felt her legs tangle in something. Looking down, she saw yards of cream-colored brocade. Her coronation gown. Why was she running in her coronation gown? She slowed to a stop. Fog rose from the river, wisps of smoke grabbing at her ankles. She started running again. The fog began to close around her —_

Beatrice awoke with a start, breathing hard. Teddy didn’t stir beside her. 

She sat up, running a hand through her hair, finding it drenched in sweat. She kicked the blankets off, swinging her legs to the side of the bed. Just as she was about to head toward the bathroom, the intercom on her bedside table began to buzz, its notification light casting the room in a red glow. Beatrice reached over, pressing the button to answer. 

“Yes?” 

“Your Majesty, you’re needed in the Situation Room,” the Palace operator’s voice informed her. 

Beatrice’s heart rate increased further. She glanced at her alarm clock. 3:27 a.m. 

“What’s going on?” Teddy grumbled into his pillow. Beatrice placed her hand on his back. 

“Nothing. Go back to sleep,” she told him. His breathing evened out almost immediately. 

Beatrice got up, pulling on a pair of leggings and a large University of Georgia sweatshirt that had belonged to her grandfather. A summons to the Sit Room in the middle of the night didn’t allow for time to shower. 

“Morning,” she said to Petey and Colin, squinting against the light of the hallway. 

“Your Majesty,” Colin said. 

“You guys know what’s going on?” she asked as the three of them began the trek downstairs. 

“No idea, ma’am. Sorry,” Petey replied. 

They reached the Situation Room, Beatrice pressing her hand into the biometric security panel on the wall. The door clicked, then swung open. Petey and Colin took their places on either side as Beatrice continued on. The group gathered inside rose from their seats around the table in the center of the room. 

“Please, sit,” Beatrice waved her hand as she took her seat at the head of the table. 

“Your Majesty, at approximately 10:06 local time, an explosion occurred at Incirlik Air Base,” Admiral Oliver said as a folder was set in front of Beatrice. 

“Turkey,” Beatrice said. 

“Yes, ma’am. We have drone footage of the area,” he pointed to the screen on the wall behind him. “A barracks on the eastern side of the base collapsed following the explosion.”

“Casualties?” Beatrice looked up at him. 

“Unclear on the number at the moment, Your Majesty,” General Henry said from her right. “We have approximately sixty airmen and other personnel still unaccounted for.”

Beatrice inhaled, letting the air out slowly. 

“What do we know so far?” Lena walked into the room. Beatrice passed the folder over as she sat on her left. “About the cause?” she clarified. 

“Unfortunately, that’s still unclear at the moment as well. We have no satellite information indicating an airstrike or RPG, but we aren’t ruling out the possibility of an external attack.” Augustus Smith, the director of the CIA answered. 

“So it could have been an accident?” Beatrice asked. Smith rolled his eyes, opening his mouth to respond. 

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Samara Castillo interjected. “It very much could have been an accident.” She looked pointedly at Smith. Beatrice shot her National Security Advisor a grateful look. Samara had been acting in the role when Beatrice’s father had died, and Beatrice had been glad to make her appointment official. She needed at least one ally in this room. 

“Samara’s right, Your Majesty. We aren’t ruling anything out just yet,” Admiral Oliver said. 

“What are the most likely causes?” Lena asked. 

“It’s hard to say,” Samara said. “The damage is extensive. We don’t want to be rash in our decision.”

Smith grunted. He liked nothing more than making rash decisions. 

“Let’s say it wasn’t an accident,” Beatrice began. “Who are the most likely culprits?” 

“That depends largely on who the intended target was. As you know, we share that air base with several other militaries,” Admiral Oliver replied. 

“Well, anyone who’s pissed at the British or the Spanish are probably pissed at us too,” Beatrice said. “Turkey is a NATO ally as well. Would it really matter?” She raised her eyebrow at Oliver. He clearly hadn’t believed she _actually_ knew which militaries America shared that base with. “What about retaliation for that joint airstrike in Kurdistan? Where they erroneously hit the school?” she asked. 

Admiral Oliver nodded. “That could very well be the case, Your Majesty.”

“We’ll update you throughout the day as more information becomes available, ma’am,” Samara said. Beatrice stood, causing the rest of the room to rise as well. 

“Thank you, everyone.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Admiral Oliver said. 

Beatrice and Lena walked toward their offices. 

“Sorry for the early morning wake up call,” Beatrice said to her chief of staff. 

“Don’t worry about it. Part of the job, right?” Lena sighed. 

“That seemed to go okay? Better than last time?” Beatrice asked. 

“Smith is still an asshole,” Lena said. “But I think Oliver is starting to come around to the idea of taking orders from you.”

Beatrice let out a sardonic laugh. “I feel bad for the guy. Imagine having a thirty-year career in the Navy and you have to start taking orders from a twenty-three-year-old Commander in Chief.” 

“I’m sure there was a learning curve with your father, too,” Lena said. 

Beatrice collapsed onto her sofa, her feet dangling over the armrest. “I guess. You know the Joint Chiefs didn’t give him this much shit though.”

Lena leaned against Beatrice’s desk. “Oh, definitely not,” she agreed. “You can go get some more sleep, you know. It’s not even five yet.”

“It’s fine, I was awake anyway when I got the call,” Beatrice said. “I’m just gonna go shower and I’ll be back down. Did you get to? You can run home.”

“I’ve got a change of clothes in my office. I’ll shower in the gym.”

Beatrice sat up. “There are showers in the gym?” she asked. Lena laughed. 

“Yes, Beatrice. Did you think Sean was running home at lunch every day?” The senior staff made fun of Sean’s obsessive workout routine constantly. 

“I hadn’t actually thought about it.” Beatrice lugged herself off the couch. “See you in like half an hour.”

She stopped off in the kitchens to grab a cup of coffee before heading back up to her suite. She let herself in quietly, tiptoeing through her sitting room so as not to wake Teddy. She had showered, gotten dressed, and was finishing her makeup when she heard him stir from the bedroom. 

“Why are you up? It’s like 5:15,” Teddy appeared in the doorway. His messy hair and rumpled pajama pants made him look younger than he was. 

“Did you not hear me earlier? Sit Room,” Beatrice explained. Teddy straightened slightly. 

“Anything happen?”

“I can’t tell you that, Teddy. You know that,” she said, reaching for her eyelash curler. 

“I have a security clearance,” he said, with slight indignation. 

Beatrice laughed. “Oh, Teddy. You have a child’s security clearance.” She laughed further at the pout on his face. She actually wasn’t kidding. Teddy had the equivalent security clearance that she’d had when she was ten, which had mostly been a formality so that her dad wasn’t committing treason by accidentally letting her overhear any secure phone calls during breakfast. Beatrice was absolutely not allowed to tell Teddy anything that had been discussed in the Situation Room. 

“It’ll probably be on the news later. I’m sure Lucy will brief on it.” Putting her mascara back in the drawer, she turned to grab her blazer off the hanger on the back of the door. 

“You can’t possibly have work to do before 6 a.m.” Teddy grabbed her hand, pulling her toward him. She leaned up to kiss him briefly, but lowered back onto her heels when Teddy tried to deepen the kiss. He groaned. 

“Sorry, a queen’s work is never finished,” she said. “Go back to bed.” She shoved at his chest. “Alone.”

“You’re no fun,” he said as he flopped back onto the bed. 

“Never claimed to be!” Beatrice replied. She grabbed her bag and headed out the suite door. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Thursday, 9:56 a.m.**

“Your Majesty?” Ben stuck his head in her door. Beatrice looked up from her economic advisor’s briefing. “Admiral Oliver is here.”

“Admiral,” Beatrice rose to greet him. 

“Your Majesty, I have news regarding Incirlik.” He looked over as Lena’s office door swung open and she stepped inside.

Beatrice gestured toward her couches. 

“We have a confirmed death toll of seventeen, Your Majesty. Another forty-seven injuries.”

Beatrice let out a long breath, deflating into the cushions slightly. In the time since she’d been Queen, there had been military casualties here and there, but this was the largest loss of life during her reign thus far. 

“Any leads on the cause?” Lena asked.

“No one is claiming responsibility, which is worrisome. If it was one of the usual suspects, they’d have sent out a press release already,” Oliver’s brow creased.

“What does that mean? Is it more likely some freak incident, then?” Beatrice asked, still hopeful that this wasn’t a coordinated attack.

“Unfortunately I think that’s unlikely as well,” Oliver said. “The more likely explanation is that it was either a rogue actor, or the scarier option, which is that the reason no one has claimed responsibility yet is because they aren’t finished.”

Beatrice sat up straight. “Aren’t finished? You mean someone could be planning another attack?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. We have assets on the ground, working every angle. In the meantime, State is working through diplomatic channels.”

Beatrice nodded. Another knock sounded at the door, Ben reappearing.

“Commander Desrosiers,” he announced.

“Ron? Is something wrong?” Beatrice asked her Chief Guard as he walked in. The look on his face didn’t quell her fear. 

“Admiral.” Ron and Oliver shook hands. Judging by the looks they gave each other, Beatrice had a feeling that Oliver knew exactly why Ron was in her office.

“Your Majesty,” the admiral turned back to her. “Commander Desrosiers is here because one of the confirmed casualties was a member of the Revere Guard.”

“Oh.” Beatrice didn’t know what else to say.

“One of your former personal Guards, ma’am,” Ron said. Beatrice sat bolt upright, her heart seeming to stop altogether. _He’s not in Turkey_ , she thought. _He isn’t there. He’s safe. He’s in Texas._

“Ari Grigoryan was killed in the explosion,” Ron continued. Silence filled the room. Lena watched Beatrice for signs of recognition. _Ari_. He’d been with her through her first three years at Harvard. She didn’t actually know him all that well, he hadn’t been the most talkative Guard she’d ever had, but the thought that someone who had served her personally had been killed overseas made something inside Beatrice clench. Finally, she nodded, looking back to Ron and Oliver.

“Thank you for telling me,” she said. The men exchanged another look.

“Your Majesty,” Oliver started. “Traditionally, it is the sovereign themselves who informs the family when a Guard is killed.”

Beatrice sank back, her back hunching. She had known this, of course. Given the danger of the Guard’s overseas missions, it was frankly surprising that she hadn’t had to make one of these notifications yet.

“It’s tradition, but not required, Your Majesty. If you would rather -”

“No,” she cut Ron off. “I’ll do it. I should do it.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

“Was that all?” she asked them.

“Yes, for now. Thank you, Your Majesty.” Both men rose from the couch. Ron left a card on the coffee table. The Grigoryans’ contact information. 

Lena watched Beatrice. “Have you ever done this before?” she asked. Beatrice shook her head.

“Would you like me to stay?” Beatrice shook her head again.

“No, thank you, Lena. I can do this myself.”

Lena nodded, and retreated to her own office, shutting the door softly behind her.

Beatrice remained on the couch, staring at the phone on the side table. 

“You have to say the word.” Beatrice’s head shot up. She hadn’t heard Mike open the door.

“What?” she asked.

“Died. You have to say he died. Don’t use a euphemism. People don’t want to believe they’ve lost someone they loved. You have to say ‘he died,’” Mike explained.

“You’ve done this before?” Mike nodded.

“What if I mess it up?” He shrugged. 

“You probably will. It’s not an easy thing you’re about to do, and it doesn’t get easier. Sometimes people just hang up, sometimes they scream, sometimes they don’t say anything, but you can still hear them breathing on the other end. If there was some trick to making it easier, I’d tell you. But there isn’t. It’s just awful. That’s all there is to it.”

Beatrice nodded, then took a deep breath. Mike shut the door behind him as she lifted the phone, dialing Ari’s parents’ number at their home in Kansas City. 

“Sona Grigoryan? This is Queen Beatrice. I’m so sorry…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Thursday, 2:17 p.m.**

“Hey, Coop,” Beatrice said as she slid into the backseat of the SUV. 

“Afternoon, Your Majesty.” He turned and smiled at her.

“You liking the new wheels?” she asked. In another fit of paranoia, at least in Beatrice’s opinion, Ron had insisted on a new fleet of vehicles for her motorcade. The car she now rode in was an outfitted Cadillac, which Sam had taken to calling ‘the Beast.’ It was built to withstand a hit from a rocket-propelled grenade, had run-flat tires, and five-inch thick windows. The doors allegedly weighed as much as those on a Boeing 757, although Beatrice hadn’t tested that theory. There was a button next to where Mike sat, which electrified the door handles to prevent outside entry. As though these features weren’t enough, the aspect that made Beatrice the most squeamish was the fact that there was a storage compartment containing several pints of her blood type, in case of medical emergency.

“It’s a pretty sweet ride, Your Majesty,” Cooper laughed. Beatrice smiled. At least someone was having fun.

She felt Mike’s eyes on her. “Would you cut it out? I told you that I’m fine,” she said. Her phone call with the Grigoryans had gone about as well as one of those phone calls could possibly go. Beatrice had had to put the phone down at one point, the sound of Ari’s father’s tears too much for her to handle. She hadn’t cried herself. It wouldn’t have been appropriate. This wasn’t about her, after all, and she was the queen. 

Mike just grunted in response. The ride to St. Stephen’s Hospital passed in silence. Beatrice was there to tour their new children’s surgical wing. Although this was typically an event that Samantha would have done, the Washington family had personally donated funds for the project, making Beatrice feel like she should do this one herself. Her sister hadn’t looked thrilled at the prospect of returning to the hospital either.

“Your Majesty, it is a real honor,” Dr. Angela Marquez, chief of pediatric surgery, greeted her as she stepped out of the car.

Beatrice smiled as dozens of flashbulbs went off around them. The royal rota was out in full force today.

“Please,” Beatrice said as they ascended the stairs. “The honor is mine. What you’ve done here is such an accomplishment.” Dr. Marquez waved the compliment off. 

She took Beatrice through the doors, up to the new children’s surgical wing. The moment they’d entered the hospital, Beatrice felt her head go fuzzy. Likely from the smell of the antiseptic, she assumed.

Dr. Marquez showed her the new rooms for family members to sleep in while their children were admitted, and demonstrated the technology updates that she said increased response times ten-fold. 

“The play-rooms are my favorite addition, I think.” Dr. Marquez led Beatrice into a large room that was so colorful that she began to feel dizzy. Beatrice attempted a smile. There were bins of toys everywhere, books along the walls, art supplies scattered around tables. Bean bag chairs were scattered in a corner, and there were even computers lining one wall. 

A lump rose in Beatrice’s throat. She felt Mike’s eyes on her from the corner of the room. Dr. Marquez, not to mention the photographers who’d been following them through the hospital, were all watching her. Beatrice belatedly realized that Dr. Marquez had asked her a question. 

Beatrice mustered a feeble smile. “I’m sorry, Dr. Marquez, could you point me to a restroom?”

“Oh, of course, right down this hall – ” Beatrice left the room before she could finish the directions.

The lump in her throat was now so tight that Beatrice couldn’t draw a proper breath. She burst through the first door she came to, which turned out to be one of the hospital admittance rooms. At the sight of the hospital bed, her throat constricted even more. She began to claw at her collar, trying to get her silk blouse to release from around her neck. She felt her necklace break, the pendant clattering to the floor. Beatrice tried to bend to pick it up, but found herself swaying violently. Her eyes were unfocused, and she couldn’t regain her balance. The floor rose up to meet her.

An arm banded around her waist. She was lowered into a chair, and a hand on her back directed her head between her knees.

“Deep breaths, kid. In for four seconds, out for eight.” She tried, but could only manage to intake for about two beats. She felt like she was choking.

“Nod your head if you can hear me, kid.” It was hard over her heartbeat thundering in her ears, but Beatrice thought she managed a tiny nod. “It’s panic. Your brain is tricking you. You’re not in danger. Try another breath.” This attempt went a little better. Beatrice’s eyes began to refocus. She could make out the outline of Mike’s boots. Black leather. Sturdy. The buzzing in her ears faded slightly. Someone was pulling her hair out of her face, a hair tie being wrapped. Gina. 

Beatrice unfolded slowly, Mike’s hand on her shoulder. She saw Colin through the small window in the door, standing guard. The blinds had been pulled closed over the large window in the wall. She began to try to get out of the chair.

“Easy, kid. Just sit for a minute,” Mike pushed her back down.

Beatrice looked between him and Gina. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I don’t know what got into me.”

“It’s alright, Your Majesty. There’s nothing to apologize for,” Gina said. Mike just shook his head. 

“I need to go back out there. The photographers – ” Mike cut her off.

“The doc took the photographers down to the operating rooms,” he explained. “She’s showing them some robot. You don’t need to do anything.” His hand stayed firm on her shoulder, holding her in the chair.

Beatrice put her head in her hands. “The da Vinci system,” she said.

“Huh?”

“The robot. It’s the da Vinci system. It’s supposed to make certain procedures less invasive,” Beatrice explained. Silence stretched around them. Time must be passing, but Beatrice couldn’t tell how long it was until Mike’s hand finally loosened her shoulder. Colin knocked at the door. 

“Your Majesty, we can bring the car through the underground garage?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No, that’s alright. I should really go thank Dr. Marquez.” Mike let her stand this time, although his hand remained poised near her elbow, clearly waiting for her to drop again. Beatrice took the hair tie out of her hair, handing it back to Gina with a small smile. 

“My…” she trailed off, looking around the floor.

“I’ve got your necklace,” Mike said. “Are you sure you don’t want to go out through the garage?”

“I’m sure. Is my makeup okay?” she asked Gina.

“You look fine, Your Majesty. No worse for wear,” Gina replied. Beatrice squared her shoulders and walked back out into the hallway, down toward the lobby. She said her goodbyes and her thank yous to Dr. Marquez, smiled for the cameras on the way out, and slid back into the car.

Mike silently handed her a bottle of water. When she tried to screw the cap off, she realized her hands were still shaking.

“Adrenaline,” Mike said, nodding his head toward her hands. “It’ll wear off in a little while.” He grabbed the bottle from her, unscrewing the cap. Beatrice took a small sip. Water dripped down her chin. Mike’s hand returned, holding the bottle steady as she took several larger gulps.

“Not too fast. You’ll yack in the car, and you know how Coop feels about that.” Beatrice let out a little gust of air, grateful for Mike’s attempt at humor. 

“I really am sor– ”

“Stop,” Mike interrupted. “If you apologize, I’m going to throw you out of the moving vehicle.”

Beatrice just rolled her eyes, leaning back against the headrest. 

She must have dozed off, because the next thing Beatrice knew, the car was pulling up to the back entrance of the Palace. She got out, belatedly realizing that she’d forgotten her purse. She turned around, only to have Mike hold the bag in front of her face. 

“Thanks,” she said as she grabbed it from him.

They walked through the halls, toward her office. 

“Your Majesty, Lord Eaton is in your office,” Lydia said by way of greeting. Beatrice sighed, then opened her door.

“Hi!” she said, pasting what she hoped was a convincing smile on her face. Teddy was on a couch, watching as Franklin chewed on a rubber Statue of Liberty toy that Marshall had given her. 

“Hi, yourself,” Teddy said, leaning up to kiss her on the cheek. 

Beatrice walked to her desk, dropping her bag down. “Did you need something?”

“I’m heading to Boston tonight, I thought we could do dinner later?” Teddy said. “There’s the new Italian place on 16th?”

Beatrice really didn’t feel like going out tonight. She was trying to come up with a work excuse, when Mike poked his head through the door.

“Sorry, Your Grace,” he said to Teddy. “We haven’t vetted that location. You’re welcome to order in.” He disappeared back through the door. 

“Is that okay?” Beatrice asked. She knew that the Guards could have easily vetted the location in the time between now and dinner, but she didn’t mind Mike’s meddling at the moment. 

Teddy nodded. “Of course. I just wanted to spend time with you,” he said. “I’ve barely seen you this month.”

Beatrice sighed. “Sorry about that. The congressional recess is usually quieter than this.” That wasn’t _entirely_ true, the sovereign usually used the recess to catch up on work that got shunted to the side when Congress was in session, but Beatrice was pretty sure that Teddy didn’t know that.

“It’s fine.” Teddy shrugged. Beatrice could tell from the look on his face that he didn’t actually think it was fine, but she didn’t press. 

A knock sounded from Lena’s office door. 

“Sorry, Your Majesty,” Lena said as she came in. Lena always called her ‘Your Majesty’ when other people were around, even if it was just Teddy. “Your Grace,” she absentmindedly added as she passed the couch.

Teddy took the hint. “I’ll see you later?” Beatrice nodded, hoping the look on her face was more smile than grimace. She turned back to Lena as the door closed behind Teddy.

“Incirlik?” she asked her chief of staff. Lena shook her head.

“They haven’t made any headway. This is about the ambassador to Ukraine.”

Beatrice sat in her chair, laying her head on the desk. 

“Alright,” she looked up at Lena after a moment. “What’s going on with the ambassador to Ukraine?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Thursday, 10:39 p.m.**

Beatrice trudged up the stairs to her suite, Petey and Jake following behind her silently. Her dinner with Teddy had been interrupted by another call to the Situation Room. He had nodded in understanding when Ben appeared in the dining room, but Beatrice knew that Teddy wasn’t happy about it. She couldn’t muster up the energy to care at the moment. He’d already left for Boston an hour ago, and she had other things on her mind.

She let herself into her suite, plopping down onto the couch. She fell back into the cushions, closing her eyes. The door opened. Mike leaned in.

“Aren’t you off duty?” she asked. 

“Technically, yes.” Despite his words, he came further into the room, sitting in the armchair across from her. 

She raised an eyebrow. “So you’re here because…”

“How are you feeling?” he asked.

“Fine. Why wouldn’t I be?” Mike looked at her like she was the biggest idiot he’d ever encountered.

“You had a lot happen today, kid.” Beatrice rolled her eyes. “Stop that. You did. No one on Earth would be ‘fine’ after today.” He put air quotes around _fine_.

“Yeah, well. I’m Queen. I have to be ‘fine.’” She mimicked him.

Mike just stared at her. Beatrice was about to ask him to leave, when he spoke again.

“You know, I mean no disrespect to your parents. I served your father. But they did a real number on you.” Beatrice sat up.

“Excuse me? That is entirely inappro–”

“Just listen for a second, would you?” He looked at her, continuing on without waiting for an answer. “You may be Queen, but you’re a person first. ‘Queen’ is your job title, kid. Sure, you can’t be crying in front of crowds of people. I get that. But if you don’t start taking care of yourself, you’re going to be a pretty terrible Queen.”

“That’s not fair. You don’t understand – ”

“Oh no, no one understands. How could anyone possibly _understand_? You don’t talk to anyone. You sit there and you pretend that your life is perfect, with your perfect smile and your perfect boyfriend and your perfect dog. Everyone loves Queen Beatrice. The country must be in good hands, look at how happy she always is!” Mike had stood up, and was now pacing back and forth across her rug. “You told a mother today that her son was killed, and then immediately afterward you took a tour of the hospital where your father died.”

Beatrice watched him. “Was there a question in there somewhere?” Her voice was icy.

“You had a panic attack today, kid. A pretty good one. Have you even told anyone about it? Eaton? Your sister? Your mom?” Beatrice looked down at the floor.

“I don’t know what any of them would have done about it. It’s over now,” she said quietly.

“You _apologized_. For freaking out at the place where your father died. Kid, my dad has been dead for ten years and I still can’t go into his workshop at home without getting worked up about it. And that’s without having to deal with being hauled into the Situation Room multiple times on the same day.”

Beatrice drew her knees up in front of her, wrapping her arms around her legs. 

“The country still isn’t used to having a woman on the throne. I can’t be emotional – ”

Mike groaned. “I don’t really give a damn what the country thinks. You can’t be an effective monarch if your mental health is in the crapper. And you aren’t going to be able to get out of this if you don’t let some people in.”

_Because that worked so well the last time_ , Beatrice thought bitterly. She’d destroyed any remnants of _that_. 

Mike sat on her coffee table in front of her. She glared at him.

“You can be pissed at me all you want. You know I’m right.”

“Why do you care, anyway?” Beatrice stood, putting space between them. “You can’t just come in here and talk to me like this.” 

“Because you don’t have a big brother,” Mike said. “And you need one.” He watched her face for a moment. “You can try to fire me again, but I’m impervious.”

A lump had caught in Beatrice’s throat again. She continued to glare at him, trying to keep the tears at bay. She crossed her arms over her chest. Something in Mike’s eyes, when he’d said _big brother_ , prevented her from being truly angry with him.

“I’ll—“ She cleared her throat. “I’ll try to work on it,” she conceded. “The opening up to people thing,” she clarified. He nodded. 

“That’s all I’m asking. Rome wasn’t built in a day.” His eyes took in the wall behind her.

“You organize your books by color?” he asked, clearly horrified. Beatrice laughed, hiccupping slightly. 

“I think you’ve criticized my life choices enough for one night,” she said. 

“Fair enough.” He stood, walking toward the door. “Night, kid.” He shut the door softly behind him. 

Beatrice stood there for a moment, staring at nothing. _Open up to people_. He made it sound easy. _Just talk to people about your feelings, Beatrice. Nothing to it._

She shook her head, heading into her closet. She caught sight of herself in the full length mirror. 

“Why does no one tell me when I look like this?” she asked out loud. She rubbed at her eyes, the mascara long having since migrated to settle underneath her lower lashes. She peeled her blouse and skirt off, tossing them onto the floor. 

She spent an eternity in the shower, scrubbing her skin raw and shampooing her hair twice. Even still, Beatrice was convinced she caught a whiff of hospital. She put on her favorite sweatshirt - the Harvard one that was three sizes too big that she definitely didn’t remember buying. The sleeves hung down past her fingertips, allowing her to burrow inside it when she felt like hiding. Which she had to admit was often. 

Sighing, she picked up her hairbrush. The brush caught in a knot at the back of her head. A surge of irrational rage shot through her as she tried to yank it out of her hair.

She lowered herself onto the tile floor, the brush still clinging to her head. Beatrice spotted her bag laying where she’d dropped it on the floor of her sitting room. Crawling over to it, she pulled her phone out the pocket. 

_You awake?_ she texted her sister. Three dots appeared immediately, then Sam’s reply. _I’ll be right there._

Samantha found her still lying on the floor of her sitting room. 

“Oh, Bee.” Sam knelt down next to her, pulling Beatrice into a sitting position so that she was sitting with her back to Sam. Sam sat cross-legged behind her sister and worked the brush out of her hair with gentle fingers, then started brushing the rest of it through. Sam was halfway through the first French braided pigtail when Beatrice spoke. 

“I didn’t do so well at the hospital today,” she said. 

“You’re braver than I am. I don’t know if I can ever set foot in that place again,” Sam said. Beatrice sighed. 

“I don’t think I was being brave. I spend so much time actively _not_ thinking about Dad that I didn’t even think I’d have a hard time. Clearly I was wrong.” 

Sam was silent for a few moments, securing a hair tie around each braid she’d put in her sister’s hair. 

“You want to talk about it?” she asked. “Dad, I mean?” 

Beatrice considered it, then shook her head. _Baby steps_ , she thought. 

“I’m sorry. I think it’s going to take me a while before I even know where to start there.”

Sam wrapped her arms around Beatrice’s waist, laying her head between her hunched shoulder blades. 

“You want to read to me? Like when we were little?” Sam asked. “I’ll even let you pick one of your boring books about macroeconomics.” Her head shook as Beatrice laughed. 

“I actually am reading one about economic imperialism in Latin America,” she said. “You sure you’re up for it?”

Sam stood, pulling Beatrice with her. 

“Is there a chapter on how American companies got into a fight over banana tariffs with the former European empires?” 

Beatrice laughed even harder, dragging Sam into the bedroom. “Oh, my dear sister. There are _three_ chapters on that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bee absolutely has not processed any of her emotions about her father, his death, or really any of the shit that has happened to her. she has a tendency in the books to just ignore her feelings and force herself to be fine, which is definitely starting to catch up with her. (we'll find out why Mike is so protective of her, don't worry).
> 
> the books don't go into detail about the monarch's role as commander in chief, but I imagine it wouldn't be that much different than the president's. I'm also majorly increasing the security around Bee, because it is genuinely insane to me how lax it was, even after she's queen (there's no way the sovereign of a country would only have one bodyguard with her, that's ridiculous). 'the Beast' is based on the real Beast, which is a fun Wikipedia page to read if you're ever bored and wondering about presidential security lol. 
> 
> thank you so much for reading!!!


	7. Chapter 7

_and if you were a lady then you’d own your lady parts_

_just like a man goes to a dealership and then he owns a car_

_what if life as we knew it was over?_

_guess what, god is a woman, I know her_

_what if rich, white, straight men didn’t rule the world anymore?_

_rich, white, straight men - kesha_

**October 2021**

**Tuesday morning**

Samantha rolled back onto her stomach, checking to make sure that her bikini top was firmly in place. It was unlikely that there’d be paparazzi on this stretch of beach, but it was still Los Angeles, and the press was still clamoring for a shot of Princess Samantha acting up. She'd tried to keep her brief trip to Orange this week quiet, and so far she'd managed to avoid any unwanted attention.

She was halfway through a chapter on the Battle of Waterloo when she was suddenly lifted off of her towel, saltwater dripping onto the pages. 

“Marshall!” she shrieked, twisting around to glare half-heartedly at her boyfriend. He just grinned. 

“I think it’s time you learned to surf,” Marshall announced, still holding her aloft. Marshall had been appalled when he’d learned Sam had never learned, despite her years of snowboarding. 

“Have they developed reliable shark-repelling technology that I don’t know about?” she asked. 

“If I say yes, will you come in the water?” He started nuzzling her neck. 

“You know, there was a great white shark attack just thirty miles…” she trailed off as Marshall began nibbling on her earlobe. “Okay, fine. I’ll go in.” Marshall whooped with joy. “But only to my waist!” she yelled as he took off toward the water, Sam still wrapped in his arms. 

Sam shrieked as the cold ocean water hit her feet. She clung tighter to Marshall’s neck as he waded further into the Pacific. 

Marshall grinned at her. “You’re going to have to let go of me for it to count as being _in_ the water, you know.” 

“I’m mentally preparing myself!”

He laughed, tossing her into the air slightly before catching her again. 

“Marshall! Don’t you dare!” 

“Dare what?” The look on his face gave her only a few seconds of warning before he plunged beneath the surface. 

She came up sputtering and laughing, immediately shoving down on Marshall’s shoulders to dunk him back underwater. 

“See? No sharks,” he said as he surfaced, reaching to grab her around her waist. 

“You jerk, now I’m going to have to wash my hair.” She wrapped her arms around his neck. 

“Oh no, not your _hair_.” He rolled his eyes. “How can I possibly make it up to you?”

Sam grinned wickedly. 

“I can think of a few things.” She surged forward, pressing her lips to his. Marshall hummed, deep in his chest, lifting her higher on his body. His mouth opened under hers. Samantha was so thoroughly distracted by her boyfriend’s lips, not to mention his very defined chest and shoulders, that she didn’t notice that he’d walked them further into the ocean spray. She broke the kiss on a gasp, a cold wave hitting her back and cresting over them both. Sam glared at Marshall, who just smiled.

“What? Clearly you have some bad associations with the ocean. Just trying to change that.”

“Immersion therapy, huh?” Sam raised an eyebrow. 

“Precisely,” he said, capturing her lips again. Sam would never admit it, but the ocean was definitely starting to seem like a good place to be. At least as long as Marshall’s arms were around her, and he kept kissing that spot below her ear.

After quite the therapy session, Sam and Marshall finally emerged from the water. Marshall pulled a towel out of his bag, wrapping it around Sam’s shoulders, rubbing her arms. He grabbed his surfboard, she grabbed their bags. Caleb, who had been standing halfway between the water and the parking lot, turned to walk with them as they approached. 

“Someone tipped off some photographers, straight to the car,” he said by way of greeting.

Samantha tipped her head back, groaning at the sky. 

“You’d think they’d get bored eventually,” she grumbled. Sam had been on what she considered her best behavior since Bee’s coronation. Her sister didn’t need any more negative press than she already got.

“Sorry, babe.” Marshall kissed her temple. “It’s L.A.” 

Caleb was opening the car door for her when she heard the tell-tale clicks of a camera shutter. 

“Your Royal Highness! Over here!” Flashbulbs went off. Caleb angled his body to block the best shot of Sam. Another shout.

“Your Royal Highness! Do you know who your sister is going to pick?”

Sam looked between Caleb and Marshall, who had gotten into the driver’s seat.

“What do they mean, who’s she going to pick?” Caleb shook his head. Marshall pulled out his phone, quickly unlocking it. He looked up at Sam, holding the phone so she could see the notification.

“Justice Adams died.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Tuesday afternoon**

“He did this on purpose,” Beatrice grumbled into her hands. “He never liked me. This was spite.”

Lena chuckled. 

“I really don’t think a Supreme Court Justice died on purpose just to spite you,” she said.

“You never met him. He once grilled me on the exceptions to the Fourth Amendment at a garden party.”

“You know the Constitution backwards and forwards, though.”

“Not when I was nine!”

Lena laughed harder. Beatrice groaned, tipping sideways to put her face into a throw pillow. A knock sounded at the door. 

“Your Majesty, Ms. de la Vega and Mr. Andrews,” Ben announced.

“Seriously, Ben, it makes me feel old when you do that,” Penelope said as she came into the queen’s office, her deputy trailing behind her. She spotted Beatrice, whose face was still in the throw pillow.

“Oh, good. I see we have everything under control in here,” she said to Lena. 

“Apparently our queen had beef with Justice Adams.” Lena was still laughing.

“You can’t have ‘beef’ with an 87-year-old,” Beatrice said as she sat up. “He just thought I was an idiot. Do we have my dad’s short-list?” she asked Sean.

“Yes, Your Majesty. I’d suggest we re-vet these options though, it’s been a few years.” Beatrice nodded. 

“Alright, who’ve we got?”

Sean went through the list of five people who her father had deemed worthy of being on the Supreme Court. The five _men_ , Beatrice noted. All Ivy League, all names she recognized from various Washington society events. 

“Do we know who the king was leaning toward?” Penelope asked. Beatrice shook her head. 

“No idea. This wasn’t one of the things he read me in on,” she replied. _Probably didn’t expect to drop dead himself_. Beatrice shocked herself at the bitterness lacing her thoughts. _I really do need to get more sleep_. 

“We could ask the former staff,” Sean suggested. 

“No!” Penelope jumped at Beatrice’s outburst. “Sorry, it’s just…” she trailed off. The only person who knew about Robert’s sabotage was Samantha. Beatrice had been too embarrassed to admit to anyone how blind she’d been to his scheming, and she wasn’t about to start now. 

She was saved from having to come up with a reason to not seek out her father’s staff by her office door slowly creaking open. Beatrice smiled. Only one person opened her door like that. A very small person. 

“Chloe?” A curly head of hair peaked around the door. 

“Can Franklin and I go play outside?” the little girl asked. The dog in question barreled past her, heading straight for the bookshelves behind Beatrice’s desk. Leaning down, Beatrice saw that there was a tennis ball wedged behind one shelf. 

“Did you finish your homework?” she asked, turning back to Chloe, who nodded. 

“Then go ahead. Tell the Guard at the door where you’re going though, okay?” 

“Okay,” Chloe dragged out the word. “Come on, Franklin!” The dog quickly abandoned his quest for the tennis ball, trotting after the six-year-old. Ben appeared in the doorway, his sister running straight past him. 

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” he said. Beatrice waved away his apology. 

“She’s fine, Ben. She’s way more polite than the twins ever were,” she assured her personal aide. Chloe was at the Palace most days after school. She’d already charmed her way in with the entire staff. Even Chef Greg, who was notorious for hating children in his kitchen, had taken to making Chloe an afternoon snack every day. Yesterday he’d carved apple slices into the shape of butterfly wings. 

“Okay, so who do we think is the front runner?” Beatrice asked, turning back to her staff. Penelope grabbed one of the profiles off of Sean’s pile, sliding it across the table. 

“Judge Montgomery would be an easy confirmation,” she said. 

Beatrice quickly scanned through his details again. Charles Frederick Montgomery IV. Yale Law School. Editor of Yale Law Review. Dean of Yale Law School. Clerked for Justice Cartwright. His father had been a judge. So had his grandfather. So had his _great_ -grandfather. He had a low reversal rate out of the 1st Circuit, where he was currently a district court judge. She could see why her father had short-listed him. 

“And we need an easy confirmation,” Sean added. 

“Since you kept your father’s Cabinet intact, this is your first major appointment as Queen. Picking a fight with the Senate wouldn’t be a good idea,” Penelope continued. “It’d weaken you, and you don’t want that not even a year into your official reign.” 

Penelope didn’t say _especially since you’re a woman_ out loud, but that sentiment always seemed to be tacked onto the end of everyone’s sentences. Beatrice nodded. She knew all this. 

“Let’s bring Judge Montgomery down here, then.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Friday morning**

“You’re picking Montgomery?” Beatrice cracked an eye open to find her sister sitting on the edge of her bed. She checked the clock. 5:47 a.m. _Doesn’t anyone in this family sleep?_

“Sammie, I haven’t even met with him yet. He’s coming down from Hartford today,” Beatrice said, rolling away from her sister. Sam wasn’t having it. 

“Another white guy on the Supreme Court? Seriously, Bee?” Sam grabbed Beatrice’s shoulder, forcing her to turn back around.

“Do we have to have this conversation now?” Beatrice groaned, shoving her head back into the pillow. This was the first night in a while that she’d managed to fall asleep before 2 a.m. Then she remembered something.

“Wait, how’d you even know it was Montgomery? We haven’t told anyone.” Samantha scoffed.

“Please, I knew you’d pick someone from Dad’s list, and Montgomery would make the easiest confirmation. He’s the most qualified and the least threatening. I’m not an idiot.” 

Beatrice looked at her sister for a moment.

“No, you’re really not,” she replied, shaking her head. “I haven’t picked him yet, Sam.”

Sam flopped back onto the bed, draping herself over Beatrice’s legs.

“You’re going to though. You think you need the easy confirmation.”

Beatrice tried unsuccessfully to extricate herself from the tangle of sheets and younger sister. Sighing, she sat up against her headboard.

“I _do_ need an easy confirmation, Sammie. I kept Dad’s Cabinet -”

“I have issues with _that_ too,” Sam mumbled under her breath.

“And so this is my first major nomination,” Beatrice continued. “I have a long reign ahead of me, hopefully. I can’t start it off by getting into it with the Senate. Half of them hate me enough as it is.”

“Exactly!” Sam yelled, bolting upright. “They already don’t like you! So who cares what fight you pick with them? If they’re going to be pissed no matter what, then why not _really_ piss them off?” Sam gestured wildly, punctuating her sentences with violent hand motions. 

Beatrice thought about this for a moment. Technically, Sam had a point. But Beatrice had a delicate needle to thread, and a long confirmation battle wouldn’t be good for the Crown. She sighed.

“I can’t, Sam.”

Her sister popped off the bed, sending Beatrice’s quilt tumbling to the floor. 

“Whatever, Beatrice,” she said. Her robe blew out behind her as she turned and stormed from the room. The front door of the suite slid closed with a thud. 

Beatrice banged her head back against the headboard. She was annoyed with Sam, especially given the hour, but a not insignificant part of her was mad at herself too. Beatrice glanced at the clock again. _More sleep is a bust_ , she thought. Throwing the sheets off, she headed toward the shower. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Later that morning**

“That’s four,” Mike muttered from behind her. Beatrice shot him a glare over her shoulder.

“Stop tracking my caffeine consumption,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee. Technically, this was her fifth cup of the day, but since she’d been up before Mike’s shift started he didn’t know that. And Beatrice wasn’t about to correct him. 

“My job is to keep you alive, which would be a lot easier if you didn’t overdose.” Beatrice rolled her eyes. They were in the Mural Room, cleverly named for the mural that spanned the entirety of the walls. It was a scene from the Revolutionary War, commissioned by her great-great-grandmother. Jeff used to sneak in here when they were kids – he liked the portion that spanned the wall across from the large picture windows. There were a lot of muskets and cannons involved on that piece. 

A knock came from the door. Penelope and Lena came in, each carrying several folders. Lena stuck one in Beatrice’s face as they sat on the couch opposite her. 

“Montgomery’s latest published opinions,” Lena said by way of explanation. 

“His plane landed thirty minutes ago, he should be here by noon,” Penelope added. “That gives us enough time to go over any last minute issues.” Beatrice looked up at her communications director.

“Are there issues?” she asked.

“None that we’ve found, Your Majesty.” Beatrice raised an eyebrow. “Beatrice, I mean. You know, it’s hard to remember when you’re fine with us calling you that and when you’re not,” Penelope said.

“Hey, I’d be fine being just Beatrice all the time, but I’ve been told repeatedly that I need to maintain some level of decorum.” Direct quote from her mother. “Save ‘Your Majesty’ for when Montgomery gets here.” 

Penelope mock-saluted. 

The three women continued through the judge’s written opinions, occasionally trading papers back and forth. At one point Mike snatched the carafe out of Beatrice’s hand, telling her she could have more coffee after she ate something. He was saved from murder at the queen’s hand by another knock on the door. 

“Your Majesty, Judge Montgomery is in the foyer,” Ben said. 

“Thanks, Ben.” Beatrice nodded at Penelope, who stood. 

“I’ll go greet him.”

Beatrice and Lena shuffled their papers around, shoving them haphazardly back into folders. 

“Ben, could you have the kitchens send up fresh coffee?” Beatrice asked her aide.

“Already on its way, Your Majesty,” Ben said, grabbing the old cart and rolling it into the hallway for the kitchen staff. 

“You’re my favorite personal aide,” she told him with a smile. 

“Because I have so much competition in that arena,” he replied, shaking his head as he left the room. 

Beatrice rolled her neck in a slow circle. She had a tendency to hold her shoulders up near her ears without realizing it. The person who used to poke her between the shoulder blades whenever she did that wasn’t around anymore. 

“Do I have anything in my teeth?” she asked Lena, who shook her head.

“Stop fussing. You outrank him, remember?” Lena said as Beatrice readjusted her skirt. Beatrice blew air out of her pursed lips.

“Yeah, ‘cause that’s always helped in these situations.” 

Penelope returned, Judge Montgomery and Sean with her. Introductions were made, and Mike, after giving the judge a hard once-over, left the room, planting himself outside the door.

“I’m assuming you know why you’re here, Your Honor,” Beatrice said as they sat down. Judge Montgomery nodded. He was about fifty-five, only a few inches taller than Beatrice. His brown hair was just a touch too dark to be natural, and it didn’t quite match his eyebrows. His navy suit was expensive, likely bespoke, but had clearly last been tailored a couple decades ago. The jacket was too long, too boxy, and the pants were too wide at the ankles.

“I didn’t think the timing was a coincidence, Your Majesty,” he admitted. 

“I do want to make clear that this is merely an introductory meeting. If I do decide to name you as my nominee to the Court, there will of course be a more formal announcement.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.” Was it her imagination, or did Montgomery seem put out by that? _He isn’t owed this spot_ , Beatrice thought. “Although,” the judge continued. “I should tell you that your father had already vetted me extensively.”

“I’m sure the king did his due diligence.” Despite Beatrice’s smile, she put a slight emphasis on _the king_. Beatrice would sometimes refer to her father with her own staff, but she always bristled when others referred to him that way. It always felt like a reminder that she was too young, and too much of a woman, to be doing this job. 

“Surely you won’t mind if I do a bit of my own?” she asked.

“Oh, of course not, Your Majesty! I didn’t mean to imply that you wouldn’t,” Montgomery replied. 

Penelope and Sean each launched into the questions that the staff had prepared. Going over past opinions, presenting potential scenarios. Examples of questions that the Senate would likely ask during a hearing. Over an hour had passed when Ben knocked on the door again. 

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty. Ms. Crawford, Minister Johnson is here,” he said.

Beatrice stood. She noticed it took Judge Montgomery a beat too long to stand as well. 

“I think we’re at a good stopping place today.” She reached her hand out to the judge. “Judge Montgomery, it has been a pleasure. You can expect a call from the Palace within the next few days,” she said.

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Montgomery returned her handshake with a slight bow. 

“I’ll show you out, Your Honor.” Ben led the judge out the door.

As the door closed softly behind them, Beatrice turned to her staff. 

“So?” she asked. Sean looked thoughtful.

“He’d certainly be good in front of the Senate. He’s a pro.” Penelope nodded in agreement. Lena watched Beatrice. 

“What do _you_ think?” her chief of staff asked. Beatrice gave a slight shrug.

“Sean’s right. Montgomery seems practically born to be a Supreme Court Justice,” she said. Lena just hmm-ed softly. 

“We’ll all talk more later? I need to go see what Johnson wants.”

“If we’re lucky, he’s resigning,” Beatrice quipped as she led the way out of the room, back towards the staff offices. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Friday evening**

Beatrice leaned back in her chair, kicking her feet up onto her desk. She had been trying to review this morning’s security briefing for over an hour now. _Maybe if Dad had read me in on some of this stuff then I’d understand it better_. She groaned aloud, annoyed with herself again. It wasn’t her father’s fault that he wasn’t there. 

“Your Majesty?” Ben stuck his head in the door. She looked up at him. “Amelia Adams is in the foyer?”

Beatrice cocked her head, her brows knitting together.

“Justice Adams’ granddaughter,” Ben explained. Beatrice nodded in recognition.

“Does she need something or…” she trailed off.

“She’d like to speak to you, if possible? She says she has something for you.”

“Something for me?” The memorial service for Justice Adams had been two days ago, and Amelia Adams had hardly acknowledged the queen. Still, her curiosity was piqued. “Tell Marco to send her up,” she said, referring to the Guard who manned the front entrance.

Several minutes later, Amelia Adams was standing in Beatrice’s office. She was tall, like her grandfather had been, with the same dominant eyebrows and wide mouth. Beatrice thought she remembered someone saying Amelia was a professor at the University of Virginia. History, maybe? 

“Ms. Adams,” Beatrice greeted her. “Or is it Dr. Adams?”

“I have a PhD, but I’m not that fussed about titles,” she replied. “You can call me Amelia.”

“Beatrice, then.” Amelia nodded. She took a moment to look around the room, stopping to look at one of the photographs on the wall.

“I grew up going there,” she said, pointing to a print of Coney Island. “Grandpa used to take my brothers and I when we had a long weekend. My younger brother once hurled up a hot dog off the top of the ferris wheel.”

Beatrice let out a startled laugh. 

“That sounds like something Jeff would have done.” Amelia spent several more minutes looking at the gallery wall. Beatrice’s impatience finally got the better of her.

“My aide said you had something for me?” she asked. 

Amelia looked down, seeming to suddenly remember the envelope that was in her hand. She walked over to Beatrice, holding it out to her.

“I went and cleaned out my grandfather’s office today. I found this. It’s addressed to you,” she explained.

“Me?” Beatrice took the envelope, and sure enough, ‘Her Majesty Queen Beatrice’ was written in scrawling handwriting on the front. Beatrice looked back up at Amelia, a quizzical look on her face.

“Before you ask,” Amelia said. “I have no idea what it is.” She shrugged, putting her hands in the pocket of her jacket. “Grandpa liked to dole out advice, whether people wanted it or not. I’d imagine it’s something along those lines.” 

There was a fondness in Amelia’s voice. Beatrice was a little jealous. She’d been young when both of her grandfathers had died, and she didn’t remember them well. And the only advice either of them had ever doled out wasn’t exactly inspiring to young Beatrice. _You must always choose the Crown_. 

“Well, thank you for bringing this. You didn’t have to go to the trouble,” Beatrice said. Amelia shook her head. 

“It was nothing, Your Majesty. Beatrice,” she corrected herself. “I should probably get going. My wife and I promised the kids that we’d take them to DeAngelo’s while we’re in town.”

Beatrice perked up. 

“You _have_ to get the pizza cookie,” she said. Amelia laughed.

“Oh, trust me. My kids know the pizza cookie well.” She smiled at the photographs on the wall once more, before heading toward the door. “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

“Thank you, Amelia,” Beatrice gave her a small wave.

The click of Amelia’s shoes faded as she walked further from the office. Beatrice lowered herself onto one of her couches, staring at the envelope in her hands. What could Justice Adams have possibly had to say to her? _Only one way to find out_. 

She grabbed a letter opener out of the jar on the side table, slicing open the top. Pulling the letter out, she began to read.

_Dear Beatrice,_

_I hope you forgive the informality. It felt odd to address you as Your Majesty in such a letter._

_First, please know that I had the utmost respect for your father, and I am so terribly sorry for your loss. A not insignificant part of me, however, is pleased that it will be you who will eventually nominate my replacement._

_I am writing this on the eve of your coronation. Such a young person, being tasked with such an enormous job. You may not believe me, but I have every faith that you will be exceptional at it. You were a quiet child, but even back then I could see the strength in you. You never backed down from a challenge, and I hope you don’t start now._

_You will undoubtedly face obstacles that no other sovereign ever had to confront. Even such, I hope you know that, despite the naysayers, there are far more people rooting for you than against you. Have faith in yourself, Beatrice, both as Queen and more importantly as a person._

_Long may you reign._

_Yours,_

_Jonathan Adams_

_P.S. Not to sway you in any way, but there is one woman in particular who I think warrants your attention. I’ll leave it to you to find her._

Beatrice didn’t know how long she stared down at the letter. She’d been so certain that Justice Adams didn’t like her. He’d always been such a curmudgeon. But what if he hadn’t been trying to belittle her with his pop quizzes on constitutional law? What if he’d been trying to help her realize that she was more prepared than she thought? Beatrice couldn’t quite wrap her head around the thought of someone believing that she might make a better nomination than her father would have. 

She sat there, twirling the lock of hair behind her ear. _Damn him_ , she thought, not quite knowing if she meant Adams or her father. 

Beatrice spotted one of Franklin’s tennis balls on the rug. She picked it up and tossed it at Lena’s office door. It bounced off with a _thwack_ , rolling back toward the couch. She was about to toss it again when Lena’s door opened. 

“You rang?” Lena said, leaning on the door jamb. 

“We’ve got a Supreme Court Justice to find,” Beatrice said, holding Adams’ letter out to her chief of staff. “Hey, Ben?” she called out the door. 

“Your Majesty?” He appeared in the doorway with his usual lightning speed.

“Do you have Chloe tonight?” Beatrice asked. 

“No, Your Majesty. She’s at a sleepover. Why?”

“I need you to start pulling names. Women judges, start with the Court of Appeals.”

Ben’s brow furrowed. 

“Can you narrow that down at all?” he asked. 

“Nope!” Beatrice laughed, shaking her head a little hysterically. “Adams figured he’d give me one last test after he kicked the bucket.” 

Ben looked to Lena, who was still scanning the letter. She looked up at Beatrice, her red lips slowly pulling into a grin. Beatrice nodded at her.

“Pull the names, Ben,” Lena said.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Saturday afternoon**

Lena and Beatrice were each draped over a couch, in largely the same positions they had been in since the night before. Chloe, who had been collected from her sleepover, was sprawled on the rug, reading one of the picture books that Beatrice had found in storage. Ben was coming in and out of the office, bringing in new stacks of research on the women on the bench. They’d made it through several circuits so far. 

Beatrice groaned for probably the twentieth time. “He couldn’t have given me the slightest hint?” She tossed another stack on the pile on the coffee table. “They all seem fine!”

Lena leaned her head back, her braids falling over the armrest. “I’m assuming Adams thought one of them was more than fine,” she sighed. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t even care what he thinks,” Beatrice said. “Maybe I should just stick with Montgomery.”

Lena looked over at Beatrice, her brown eyes narrowed. “You don’t like Montgomery. I could see it on your face the second he walked in.” 

“I have a better poker face than that,” Beatrice insisted. Lena scoffed. “You really don’t.” 

“Chloe thinks I have a good poker face. Don’t you, Chlo?” 

“What’s that?” Chloe asked, kicking her heels together. 

“A poker face is what you call it when you can’t tell what someone is thinking based on their facial expression,” Lena explained. 

“Oh,” Chloe said. “No, you don’t have that.” Lena laughed in triumph. 

“Hey!” Beatrice said, tossing a ball of crumpled paper at Lena, who was still laughing. “Good to know my Queen mask needs work.” 

“I like you better when you’re not acting like the queen anyway,” Chloe said.

Beatrice’s brow furrowed. Chloe was honest in the way that only small children and drunk people could be – blunt, and with no real regard for how their words will be perceived. She hadn’t even looked up from her book. 

“Okay, I’m about to stage an intervention,” Lucy announced, storming into the room. Beatrice watched Chloe for another moment, vowing to ask the little girl what it was she didn’t like about the queen. 

She turned to her press secretary. “Intervention for what?” she asked. 

Lucy gestured at the reams of paper on the table and floor. She was in jeans and a University of Orange sweatshirt, her blond curls pulled into a ponytail. 

“You two were here all night? Do you want me to go prematurely gray?” Lucy had had the unfortunate task of keeping the press off the scent that week regarding Beatrice’s pending nomination. “You get a letter from a dead man and throw our strategy out the window?” 

“Probably won’t be the last time a dead man affects our strategy,” Lena said. 

Lucy sighed, flopping down onto the couch next to Lena, papers crinkling beneath her. “Montgomery is the perfect Supreme Court nominee.” 

“He’s what everyone _thinks_ is a perfect nominee. That doesn’t mean he _is_ perfect,” Beatrice said. 

Lucy glared at her. “Is this some kind of hazing ritual? ‘Give Lucy a stomach ulcer’?” 

“Oh, Luce. If I was going to haze you, I’d have done it already,” Beatrice smiled at her. “Since you’re here, you can make yourself useful.” She shoved a pile of names at her. Lucy snatched them, huffing as she settled back in the cushions. 

“What are we looking for, anyway?” she asked. 

“They’ll know it when they see it,” Chloe piped up from the floor, mimicking what the two women had been telling Ben all day. 

Beatrice and Lena let out identical bursts of laughter. “What she said.”

Some time had passed, though Beatrice wasn’t sure how much of it, when Chloe spoke up again.

“I’m hungry,” she announced, jumping up onto the couch next to Beatrice. Really more on top of Beatrice than next to her. She grunted as the six-year-old’s elbow connected with her stomach. 

Beatrice checked the clock on the mantle. “We’ve been here for six hours,” she groaned.

“Time to eat!” Chloe bounced in her seat. “I want pizza.”

“You had pizza at your friend’s house,” Ben’s voice echoed from the outer office. Chloe blew a raspberry in her brother’s direction.

“There’s no such thing as too much pizza, Ben,” Lena said, winking at Chloe. 

“You good with pizza?” Beatrice looked to Lucy, who was still engrossed in a judge’s profile. “Lu?”

“Sorry! Yeah, pizza’s great.”

“You find anything?” Beatrice asked, nodding her head toward the paper in Lucy’s hand. 

She sighed, dropping it to the floor with the others. “I don’t know. No one is jumping out at me.”

“Ben!” Beatrice called out the door. 

“Already ordering!” he answered. 

“Get some for -”

“Your Guards, I know!” Beatrice laughed. 

Ben leaned his head in. “On its way.”

“You’re my -”

“Favorite personal aide,” Ben shook his head, hiding a grin. “You’ve said.”

Half an hour later, Ben came back in, carrying a stack of pizzas. Mike followed closely behind, wordlessly snatching a pepperoni and sausage off the top. As he turned to go back into the outer office, Lucy, who had gone to wash her hands, came barreling through the door. 

“Oh! I’m sorry, excuse me.” Lucy tucked an escaping curl behind her ear. 

“That’s alright, Ms. Jacobs.” Mike stepped around her. As he turned to close the office door behind him, Beatrice could have sworn that his eyes drifted back to Lucy, an odd look on his face. _Interesting_.

“So I hate to ask, Your Majesty, but what happens if you don’t find who you think you’re looking for?” Ben asked around a mouthful of pizza. 

Beatrice took a bite, melted cheese dripping down her chin. “I don’t know. I guess we go with Montgomery?” 

Lena grumbled around a pepperoncini. 

“Montgomery wouldn’t be the end of the world,” Lucy said. “Remember - easy confirmation.” 

Beatrice balanced her plate on her lap, leaning her head back into the cushion. _Easy confirmation_. Maybe that’s what would be best.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Much later that night**

Beatrice rolled over again, her sheets twisting around her legs. She glanced at the clock for the tenth time that hour. It wasn’t quite two in the morning. She hadn’t slept a wink since she and Lena had finally left the office just after ten.

Deciding sleep was futile, Beatrice sat up, pulling the hair tie from her fallen bun. Slipping on some sneakers and a hoodie, she headed out the suite door. 

“Your Majesty,” Petey greeted her. He and Jake followed her toward her office. Ben had left one final stack of candidates on her desk. A blue Post-It note was stuck to the first page. 5th Circuit. 

She grabbed the pile. After sitting at her desk for a moment, she decided a change of scenery was in order. 

“Success!” Beatrice pulled a pint of Phish Food out of the industrial freezer in the kitchens. Spreading the research out on the counter, she dug into the ice cream, relishing in the chocolatey marshmallow goodness. Sifting through the candidates, she began to read. There were only four women judges in the 5th Circuit. The first three she went through were much like the others. Incredibly qualified. The right schools, the right career trajectories. _Adams wouldn’t have sent me on a wild goose chase for nothing_ , she thought. 

Beatrice pulled the last file toward her. _Alright, Consuelo Alvarez. Let’s see what you’ve got_. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Much, much later that night (or is it early morning?)**

Lena woke to the sound of banging on her apartment door. Dragging herself out of bed, she shuffled to her front room. She checked the peephole, then immediately pulled the door open. 

“Beatrice?” Her boss shoved a folder into her chest. 

“We’re going to Houston.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hmmm I wonder if there's anyone else in Beatrice's life who lives in Houston?
> 
> thanks so much for reading!!!


	8. Chapter 8

_‘cause all I know is we said ‘hello’_

_and your eyes look like comin’ home_

_all I know is a simple name_

_and everything has changed_

_everything has changed – taylor swift_

**Sunday, 6:15 a.m. EST**

“Explain to me again why we have to go to Houston at the crack of dawn on a Sunday?” Gina asked. Beatrice, her Guards, and Lena had just boarded Eagle III, the smaller of the Crown’s planes, at Andrews Air Force Base. “Are there threats I haven’t been read in on?” She directed this to Mike.

“Nope. This morning’s evasion tactics are entirely the kid’s doing,” he answered, nodding his head toward Beatrice. “She’s having a little too much fun with this.” 

Despite Mike’s tone, Beatrice knew he’d enjoyed the small amount of shenanigans this morning. Cooper had driven the motorcade around in circles for a while, and they’d finally gotten to have some fun with the decoy car, which was currently driving toward the Washingtons’ country house. The press corps wasn’t typically near the Palace on weekends, and certainly not this early in the morning, but Lena and Beatrice weren’t taking any chances.

“The press has been hanging around all week! We can’t tip them off,” Beatrice said as she sat in her usual seat. Lena plopped down across from her. Eagle III, despite its relatively small size, was outfitted with multiple living areas, including a table with four plush leather seats situated around it. Lena pulled out her iPad, pulling up the research that Ben had already completed on Judge Consuelo Alvarez. She swiveled the tablet so that it was facing Gina, who’d sat down next to Beatrice.

“If all goes well today, we’re going to have a new Supreme Court nominee,” Lena said, pointing to Alvarez’s picture on the screen. “If the press gets tipped off before the decision has officially been made, that only makes our job harder.”

Gina picked the iPad up off the table, sweeping her fingers to zoom in. “Well, she’s no Montgomery,” she said, a smile forming on her face. 

“No, she certainly is not,” Lena agreed. 

Gina turned her head toward Beatrice. “Is it really going to be that much of a fight? To get her confirmed, I mean.”

Beatrice sighed. “Alvarez isn’t what people are used to when they think ‘Supreme Court,’” she explained. Gina held the tablet higher so that Colin, who was leaning over the back of the seats, could read the screen. “She’s a brilliant jurist, but there’s a lot of things about her that are going to be a little shocking. Single mother, she went to law school at night. She’s first-generation too. Her mother immigrated from Mexico when she was nineteen.” 

“Those are bad things?” Colin asked.

“Not at all. If anything she’s more qualified than Montgomery,” Beatrice said. “He would have had to actively have tried _not_ to be a judge to not end up where he is.” 

“Why couldn’t you just bring her to the Palace like you did with Montgomery?” Colin asked.

“The press knows that Montgomery was on the king’s short-list, so it’s not that much of a news story for him to have a meeting with the queen. If the press were to see Judge Alvarez coming into the Palace, that’d be a huge story. There aren’t a whole lot of reasons that an appellate judge would be coming to the Palace right now,” Lena explained. “We can make up some reason for the queen to be in Houston that has nothing to do with the nomination, if anyone finds out.”

Colin nodded in understanding.

While some people might find it odd, Beatrice liked talking to her Guards and staff about policy decisions. She could tell that her mother found it highly inappropriate, but Beatrice had always had so little interaction with anyone outside of the royals’ inner circle. It sometimes made her feel woefully unprepared to lead the country. Not that she’d ever tell Adelaide that.

“Fasten your seatbelts, please.” The pilot’s voice came over the intercom. “Your Majesty, skies look clear. Flight time to Houston, Texas is approximately three hours and twenty minutes.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Sunday, 8:15 a.m. EST**

Samantha woke slowly. Sunlight was streaming in through the gap in her velvet curtains, splicing across her bed. It was a rare morning where she didn’t have any events scheduled for the day. Marshall was flying in later, but for now Sam had absolute freedom over her time. 

Deciding she’d go for a run, she went into her closet and pulled on a bright yellow fleece and matching leggings, slipping her turquoise running shoes on. 

“Morning, Caleb,” she greeted her Guard as she stepped out of her suite, pulling her hair back into a ponytail. 

“Your Royal Highness,” he replied. “Running this morning?”

Sam nodded. “Go ahead and change, I promise not to go anywhere. I’m just going to see if my sister wants to come.”

Caleb headed off toward the third floor, while Sam made her way down the hall to Beatrice’s suite. As she reached to open her sister’s door, she realized something was off. Where were her Guards? The hallway was deserted. 

“Bee?” she called, checking her sister’s bedroom. No answer. She must have gotten up early.

Caleb found her again at the back entrance, having changed into the Guard’s typical all-black exercise gear. Sam always wondered how they concealed their sidearms so well beneath the black hooded sweatshirt. 

They took off on her father’s usual route, the four mile trek through the streets surrounding the Palace. It was Sam’s favorite time of year in Washington. The red maples lining the sidewalks had turned yellow and orange, setting the city on fire. Sam slowed as they reached the bridge over the Potomac. She kicked her foot up onto the low concrete ledge, stretching out her hamstrings. 

“Seriously, don’t you ever get tired?” she asked Caleb, who was jogging in place beside her. He’d barely broken a sweat.

Caleb gave her a flat look. “We train for things a lot more strenuous than this, Your Royal Highness.”

Samantha laughed. “Sorry for being so boring lately,” she teased.

“Trust me, looking after you is enough work as it is. I appreciate you having grown out of your ‘sprinting into oncoming traffic’ phase.”

Sam started back toward the Palace. “I am sorry about all of that, Caleb,” she said as he ran beside her. 

He shrugged. “It’s the job, Your Royal Highness. Frankly…” he trailed off.

“Frankly?” Sam never got this many words out of Caleb in a row. She might be pushing, but she wasn’t going to pass up the opportunity.

“I don’t mean to speak out of turn.” Sam nodded when he glanced at her. “It must be difficult, never being able to go anywhere alone. You’re young. You should be able to run around Thailand without being dragged off by helicopter.”

Samantha smiled at the memory. Caleb had been pissed that day. “It is difficult. But what can you do, you know?” 

Caleb just nodded. They ran back through the Palace gates, continuing through to the kitchens.

“Morning, Chef,” Samantha said. Chef Greg stood at the counter, glaring down at a produce order form. Chef Greg was a giant of a man, at six foot six and over two-fifty. He’d been a linebacker for the Washington Cavalry in his youth, before pivoting to cooking. Sam and her siblings used to sneak down to watch Greg make pastries, always fascinated by such huge hands being capable of such delicate piping. 

“Your Royal Highness,” Greg said without looking up. “Please tell me you aren’t here to make off with a gallon of coffee, like some kind of thief in the night.”

“Why would I do that?” Sam and Caleb exchanged a confused glance.

Greg looked up finally. “I don’t know, but that’s what your sister did this morning. Flew out of here like a bat out of hell.” Greg still had his Louisiana accent, his vowels elongated and flowing.

This did nothing to ease Samantha’s confusion. “Did Beatrice go somewhere this morning?”

Greg flapped his hand. “Something about Texas. I don’t keep track of that child.” 

Chef Greg had been at the Palace long enough that he no longer had any care for the chain of command. As far as Greg was concerned, Beatrice was still the five-year-old who refused to eat mushrooms. Sam knew for a fact that her sister still hid them in her napkin even now. 

“Texas?” Sam perked up. “Where in Texas?” 

Greg glared again. “Houston, maybe? Why does it matter?” 

Sam’s heart sped up. Bee couldn’t be going to see _him_ , could she? Sam would wholeheartedly approve of that, but it didn’t seem like something Beatrice would do. But what other reason would there be for her to sneak out so early?

Before Sam could pull out her phone to call her sister, the swinging doors at the far end of the kitchens flew open. 

“Gregory, we need to go over the menu for today’s luncheon,” Queen Adelaide came floating into the room. She spotted her daughter. “Samantha, you’re up early.” She did a once-over of Sam’s outfit. Sam suppressed an eye roll. Her mom was always telling her and Beatrice that yellow didn’t play well with their skin tone. 

“Figured I’d get a run in,” Sam explained. 

Adelaide nodded. “You should make an appearance today. It will be good to show that the younger generations still care about the Historical Society.”

Samantha cared plenty about history, but she found the Washington Historical Society’s version of it to be somewhat skewed. She didn’t care for their use of euphemisms to describe her ancestors’ enslavement of human beings. It’d be much better if everyone just admitted the atrocities, rather than acting like it was just a stain on the country’s history. Sam had seen enough of the comments about her and Marshall to know that the nation still had a long way to go.

“Sure, Mom. I’ll stop by.”

Adelaide relaxed slightly, running a hand over Sam’s ponytail. Sam thought that her mom might be about to say something else, but the cold edge returned to her eyes. She turned back to Chef Greg. 

“We simply cannot have root vegetables at lunch.” 

Sam made eye contact with Caleb. Caleb quietly opened the fridge, grabbing two protein shakes, while Sam slowly opened the side door to make a quick getaway. It was best to avoid any showdowns between the dowager queen and the Palace chef. They slipped out of the kitchens, just as Chef Greg could be heard yelling about how Mandarin oranges weren’t in season.

As they made their way up the back staircase, Sam heard the sound of footsteps growing closer.

“Sammo!” Jeff said, throwing his arm around her neck, bringing her nose in direct contact with his armpit. 

“Ugh, Jeff!” She tried to get out from under his arm, but he held fast. Sam somehow ended up in a headlock. “You wreak, did you sleep in a field?”

Jeff laughed. “So much judgment from my favorite twin sister.” He started to walk them back down the stairs.

“Mom’s down there right now, I’d give it a minute.”

Jeff stopped abruptly. “Good call. Plan B!”

They walked back up, Sam hindered by the arm still around her head. The kitchens were on a sort of mezzanine level, above the basement but not quite on the first floor either. Jeff dragged Sam up the last set of stairs, pulling his phone out of his pocket. 

“We need breakfast,” he said, tapping into the delivery app. “You think Beatrice wants anything?” 

“She’s not here,” Sam said, finally yanking her head free. “She slipped out some time this morning apparently.”

Sam was actually kind of surprised Jeff had thought to even ask about Beatrice. She had to admit that they hadn’t been the most inclusive of their sister in the past. Maybe Jeff had realized that too? 

“What a rebel,” Jeff deadpanned. “She’s probably working. Egg and bacon?”

Sam nodded. “Let’s eat in the theater. I missed the Generals game last night.”

Jeff finished ordering, then put his phone back in his pocket. “I like the way you think.” He grabbed her head again, rubbing his knuckles into her hair. At least she could still count on Jeff to be irritating, even if she wasn’t entirely sure where he’d been all night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Sunday, 9:30 a.m. CT**

“Your Majesty!” Hector Ramirez, Duke of Texas, greeted her with a sweeping bow. “Welcome to Houston.”

“Beatrice, please,” she said, smiling at the Duke. She’d always liked Hector. When she was younger, he had given her copies of _Rebelde_ on DVD to improve her Spanish. ‘Otherwise you’ll end up sounding like my abuelita,’ he’d told her. Her language tutor hadn’t appreciated that, but Beatrice certainly had.

“Of course, my dear,” Hector said, kissing her once on each cheek. “I was so happy to hear from you this morning.”

“This is Lena Crawford, my chief of staff,” Beatrice gestured. “Lena, Hector Ramirez, Duke of Texas.” 

“Lovely to meet you, Ms. Crawford. You two are doing some great work out there in Washington,” Hector said as he shook Lena’s hand. 

Beatrice let out a laugh. “I don’t know if anything I’m doing could be classified as _great_ ,” she said. 

“This one,” Hector said, shaking his head. “Always so modest. Even as a child! No faith in herself,” he said to Lena. 

“Oh, trust me, I’ve noticed. We’re working on it,” Lena replied conspiratorially. 

“Is she here?” Beatrice changed the subject as Hector walked them through the grand archway into the house. The Duke’s residence was a sprawling chateau, with stately columns and Versailles-inspired finishings. _Everything’s bigger in Texas_. 

“Arrived here just before you did,” Hector replied. “I had her collected, just like you asked.”

“Does she know why she’s here?” Beatrice asked. Hector led them through the grand foyer up a sweeping marble staircase. Beatrice caught a heel on the edge of the carpet runner, steadying herself quickly on the handrail. 

“My dear, _I_ don’t know why she’s here,” Hector laughed. “I can make an educated guess, but I decided it would be best if you explained it yourself.”

At the top of the stairs, Hector led them to the right. Beatrice took in her surroundings, turning in a circle as they walked. 

“My mother had interesting taste,” Hector said, watching her. 

“It’s lovely,” Beatrice assured him. “I just wasn’t expecting something so…”

“French?” he supplied, laughing. “She spent a lot of time at her grandparents’ chateau as a child. My father indulged her.” Hector’s voice was full of fondness. He ran his hand along the gold-trimmed wainscoting, which glinted in the morning light streaming in through the windows. “The chandeliers are perhaps a bit much,” he added, pointing up. 

Beatrice craned her neck. There were matching chandeliers strung up every few yards along the hallway. She chuckled.

“I’m in no position to judge what ‘too much’ is, Hector. I live in a literal palace, remember?”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” he laughed. 

They’d reached a set of massive double doors. Colin and Gina moved to stand on either side of them as Hector reached for a handle. “The Blue Room,” he said, opening the doors with a flourish.

The room was aptly named. Large neoclassical columns stood on either side of the entrance, blue marble topped with intricately carved capitals. The ceiling had been dusted a sky blue, reminding Beatrice of her cloud-like bedroom at the Palace. Several tables dotted the room, each surrounded by clusters of bergere chairs, upholstered in luxe blue silk. A baby grand piano stood stately in a corner.

At one of these tables sat a woman, who stood the moment the doors opened. Someone had clearly warned her that this was a work meeting. She had on a deep green pantsuit and satin blouse, her dark hair pulled back from her face. Beatrice envied the confidence it must take to wear red lipstick so early in the morning. The woman’s deep brown eyes went wide at the sight of the queen.

“Your Majesty!” Her voice was high as she sank into a curtsy. 

Beatrice stuck her hand out. “Judge Alvarez, it is an honor to meet you.”

“The honor is mine, Your Majesty.” She returned the queen’s handshake. Beatrice introduced Lena, and Judge Alvarez’s eyes widened slightly again at the sight of Mike, who remained just inside the doors. 

“I shall leave you to it. I have a tee time with the mayor,” Hector said, bowing toward Beatrice before leaving the room.

“Please, sit!” Beatrice flung a hand toward the chair Judge Alvarez had just vacated. Settling into her own seat, she could feel sweat form under her arms. She’d worn a darker blazer over her shirt on purpose. Beatrice was nervous about this meeting - excitement and fear bundled together, causing her knee to shake slightly. She crossed her ankles below her pleated midi skirt. 

“I apologize for the cloak and daggers, Judge Alvarez,” she said.

“It’s quite alright, Your Majesty. It’s not every day you get summoned to the Duke’s residence.” She gestured about the room.

“We’ve been reading some of your recent opinions,” Beatrice nodded between herself and Lena. 

“We have some follow-up questions,” Lena added. 

Judge Alvarez sat up straighter. “Oh. Well, alright.” She cocked her head to the side slightly.

Beatrice and Lena launched into the questions they’d prepared on the plane. Lena, as the lawyer, took the lead. It had been about an hour, Beatrice thought, when Judge Alvarez’s phone rang. 

“I am so sorry, Your Majesty,” she said, pulling her phone out of her purse on the floor. “It’s my son.” She checked the screen. 

“Please, go ahead,” Beatrice told her. The judge stood, walking toward the doors, which Mike held open. 

As Judge Alvarez left the room, Lena kicked Beatrice in the shin. 

“Ow! What was that for?” Beatrice glared at her chief of staff. 

Lena huffed. “You’re being The Queen again,” she accused. 

“What are you talking about? I _am_ the queen.” Beatrice’s brow furrowed. 

“Yes, _you_ are the queen. So stop _acting_ like the queen.”

“I’m not following you.” She had genuinely no idea what Lena meant. 

Lena sighed heavily. She shot Beatrice a look that seemed almost sad. “Just, be Beatrice,” she said. 

There wasn’t enough time to ask Lena to explain further, as Judge Alvarez came walking back in. 

“I apologize again, Your Majesty. My sons can’t even go an hour without trying to kill each other,” she said as she sat down. 

Beatrice glanced at Lena, who raised an eyebrow. “How old are your sons?” Beatrice asked, turning back to the judge. 

“Eleven and eight, Your Majesty,” she said. 

“Beatrice, please. I dragged you out here on a Sunday morning, we’re on first names I think,” she laughed. 

Judge Alvarez smiled. “Consuelo, then.” 

“I was wondering…” Beatrice started. Lena gave her a nod of encouragement. “I was quite impressed by your journey to get to where you are. What made you decide to go to law school?” 

Consuelo laughed. “That was my mother’s doing. I got pregnant in college.” She stopped to look at Beatrice, who nodded. Ben was thorough in his research. “Well, I managed to graduate, but just barely. I had my daughter, and the only job I could find with health benefits was at this big corporate office. Truly mind-numbing.” 

Beatrice chuckled. 

“Mama was watching Lauren during the day, so she always got to hear me ranting about how boring work was and how terrible the bosses were when I got home each night.” She took a breath. “One of the bosses was particularly bad.”

Beatrice nodded. She had a feeling she knew where this story was heading. 

“He sexually harassed every woman in the office. Some got it worse than others.” She shook her head. “I finally worked up the courage to report it, and was basically told that there was nothing they could do, since he was an executive in the company. So I went to see a lawyer. He was sympathetic, but he told me that it probably wouldn’t be a good case to take to court. He said that, since this boss had never actually laid a hand on anyone, that no judge or jury would hold him or the company liable.” Consuelo paused for a moment, her hands fisting slightly against her knees. 

“When I got home after that meeting, Mama interrupted my rant by telling me it sounded like I just needed to figure out how to fight for myself, then. I took the LSAT a couple months later, got into law school, then somehow ended up sitting here with you.” 

“Was he ever held accountable?” Beatrice asked. “Your horrible boss, I mean?”

Consuelo sighed and shook her head. “Of course not. Those men never are.” 

Beatrice pulled her lower lip between her teeth, reaching to grab the chunk of hair behind her ear. She thought of Robert. He hadn’t done anything like _that_ to Beatrice, but he had undermined her and prevented her from doing her job, all because she was a woman. She’d fired him, after giving him the benefit of the doubt for far too long, but she’d never felt entirely satisfied with that ending. 

“I’m really hoping I can change that,” Beatrice said. “That _we_ can change that,” she added, looking between Lena and Consuelo. “Starting with putting you on the Supreme Court.”

Consuelo’s jaw dropped. “I’m sorry?” 

“There have only been two women on the Supreme Court in history. Right now there’s only one. The highest court in the land needs to start looking a bit more like the people who live there,” Beatrice straightened in her chair. “So what do you say, Judge Alvarez? Would you like to be the next Associate Justice of the United States Supreme Court?” Beatrice tamped down her jiggling knee. Her heart pounded as she watched Consuelo’s face. 

“That’s —” she started. “Are you —” She shook her head, her hair clip slipping to allow dark brown tendrils to frame her face. “It would be an honor.” 

It took Beatrice a beat for the answer to sink in. A smile stretched so far across her face that it was nearly painful. 

“Great!” She leaped out of her chair. Not very regal of her, but at the moment she couldn’t seem to care. “I should warn you, this might not be the easiest confirmation in American history.” 

Consuelo had stood as soon as Beatrice had. At this, she smiled. “I’m game if you are,” she said. 

Lena laughed and clapped her hands together. “Oh, trust me. She’s game.” She smiled at Beatrice. “And so am I. Come with me, Judge Alvarez. I’ll introduce you to the rest of the team. Telephonically, anyway.” 

Lena led the judge out of the room, already chatting excitedly about Penelope’s media strategies. 

Beatrice picked up her bag, shrugging it over her shoulder. As she walked out of the room after them, she reached for her own phone. No doubt she had emails to catch up on. Mike walked next to her, Gina and Colin following closely behind. 

“You know, I gotta admit, I thought you were gonna blow it there for a minute,” Mike said as they made their way back down the curving marble staircase. 

“Hey! I had the situation well at hand,” Beatrice argued. 

Mike scoffed. “Sure, kid.”

Beatrice rolled her eyes, looking down at the phone in her hand. Ben had been spending the morning getting her caught up from everything she’d missed during the week while she’d been focused on the nomination. He’d sent her what seemed to be over twenty emails, marked with varying levels of importance. 

“Was she putting on airs again?” Gina asked from behind her. Mike laughed. 

“Okay, now you’re both fired,” she said, turning around on the stairs. “Colin is the only one who isn’t mean to—” 

Her heel caught on the same piece of carpet runner as before. She saw Mike start to reach for her, but before he’d made it down a step Beatrice felt an arm band around her waist, her back colliding with a solid chest, keeping her from toppling over backwards. Her savior let out a slight _oof_. Beatrice didn’t have to turn her head to know who’d caught her. 

“Been walking long?” Connor Markham quipped above her head. He really was annoyingly tall. 

“Hi!” Beatrice’s voice cracked on the word as she craned her neck back to look at him. She of course knew that he was head of security for the Ramirez family, but with her nerves over interviewing Judge Alvarez she hadn’t allowed herself to consider the possibility of actually seeing him.

Connor’s mouth quirked up in a lopsided smile as his eyes met hers. “Hi, Bee.”

He stepped back, easily lifting her down the last few stairs to set her neatly on the floor. Assured that even Beatrice couldn’t trip while standing still, he removed his arm from around her, putting a step between them. She could still feel where each of his fingers had pressed into her waist. 

Now on solid ground, Beatrice could really look at him. His light brown hair was slightly longer, his skin more tanned. It made the blue-gray of his eyes even more striking. There was the familiar smattering of freckles across his nose. He had more stubble along his jaw than he’d worn at the Palace. With the bit of tattoo that was visible below the collar of his shirt, he looked almost rugged. In a very good way. _Stop noticing that, Beatrice_. She shook her head slightly. 

Just like the day they’d met, Beatrice had the eerie feeling that he knew exactly what she’d been thinking. Connor’s eyes left her to look up at Mike. He took in Colin and Gina on the stairs, his eyebrows raising. 

“Is she getting threats?” he asked Mike, who nodded. 

“Nothing terrible, but enough that Desrosiers decided to increase the rotation,” Mike replied. 

Beatrice whipped her head in his direction. “Hey! What happened to ‘I’m not at liberty to discuss Her Majesty’s security protocol?’” she asked, lowering her voice to mimic his usual response. 

Mike shrugged. “He’s one of us,” he said, gesturing with his chin at Connor. 

“You two know each other?” Beatrice glanced between them.

“I taught him everything he knows, kid,” Mike said, clapping Connor on the shoulder as he came to stand next to him. Connor let out a _hah_! 

“You wish, old man,” he told him. “Lawson did help train me.” He looked back at Beatrice. “He was with me overseas.” 

Beatrice met his eyes, nodding in understanding. Connor hadn’t ever told her the details of those missions, but she knew that he held some painful memories. She found herself wondering if maybe she should have offered to talk about it, if he’d wanted to. 

“O’Shane. Rodriguez,” Connor greeted Colin and Gina both with one-handed bro hugs, complete with back thumps, which made Beatrice smile. 

The sound of high heels on marble echoed down the hall. “I hate to break up whatever love fest is going on right now, but we really should head back to Washington. Lucy is mid-aneurysm,” Lena called, gesturing with her phone. 

Beatrice laughed, shaking her head. Connor was watching her, and at Lena’s words he jerked his head toward the foyer. “I’ll walk you out.” 

He fell into step beside her. “So what brings you down here, anyway?” 

Beatrice had completely forgotten. Her mind had gone irritatingly, predictably blank the second she’d fallen into Connor’s arms. _Honestly, Beatrice, get it together_ , she admonished herself again. 

“Finding a Supreme Court nominee,” she answered after a beat. 

“Yeah?” He cocked his head. “Everyone thinks it’s gonna be Montgomery.”

Beatrice scoffed. “Montgomery thinks it’s gonna be Montgomery,” she said. “I decided to go in a different direction.”

Connor’s mouth stretched into a smile at her defensive tone. “Good for you.” 

Beatrice knew he meant it. 

“It’s going to be a difficult confirmation probably. The Senate isn’t going to be thrilled that I didn’t pick from my dad’s short-list.” 

Connor knocked her with his elbow. “You’ll do great,” he said as she met his eyes again. “You’re Beatrice.” 

She gave a low chuckle. “If only that were enough,” she said, shrugging one shoulder. 

“It is, Bee,” he sighed. They’d stepped out under the arched entrance. A black SUV idled in the driveway. Beatrice could see Lena already inside, talking animatedly into her phone. 

“This is me,” she said, jerking her head toward the vehicle. 

Connor turned toward her, his eyes scanning her face. “Fly safe, alright?”

Beatrice snorted. “Well, fortunately I’m not the one flying the plane, so chances are pretty good that we’ll make it home in one piece.”

He rolled his eyes. Beatrice thought she heard him mutter _smart ass_ under his breath. 

Connor squeezed her elbow once, then stepped back toward the door. “Bye, Bee. It was really good to see you.” 

Beatrice stood rooted in her spot for a moment. Even though it’d been over a year since they’d seen each other, she still felt a small tug in her chest at the sight of him walking away. 

“Wait!” she called at his back. He turned, his hand on the door. “How are you? Is Hector treating you well? How’s your family? Is Kaela still liking school?” 

“We do not have time for that, unless you want to have to hire a new press secretary!” Lena called out the car door, the phone still pressed to her ear. 

Connor chuckled. “I’ll call you,” he said to Beatrice. 

“You promise?” She arched an eyebrow at him. 

He arched one back at her. “Yes, _Princess_.” He hadn’t called her that since Harvard. She knew what he was saying. 

“Not a princess anymore!” she called as she walked backwards toward the car, maintaining eye contact. _I miss you too._ She felt Mike’s hand maneuver her around the door before she ran into it. 

Connor just shook his head, a small smile on his face. He lifted his hand in a wave as Mike shut the car door behind her. He waited until the SUV was pulling out onto the main road before turning back toward the Duke’s residence. 

“Seriously, Lu. We are on the way to the airport right now. I’ll talk to you when we get back home,” Lena tapped her phone screen to end the call, turning in her seat to look at Beatrice full-on. 

“What?” Beatrice asked, looking down to see if there was something on her jacket. Lena’s gaze sharpened. 

“Nothing,” she said finally. “It’s none of my business. Communications is going to meet us at the Palace. Hopefully Ben can keep Lucy from hyperventilating until then.” 

“We’ll be fine, Lena.” She grinned to herself, leaning her head against the car window. “Everything will be fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was another chapter that became a behemoth, so it got split into two. 
> 
> one of my primary complaints for Majesty was the complete lack of Connor, which is unacceptable. I also thought that Beatrice was v quick to say goodbye to her best friend, and that not everything is as simple as she'd like it to be. let's get into it! 
> 
> also re: Washington sports team names. for some reason the baseball team is the Generals in the book (I can't figure out why the college fraternity names were the same as they are in real life, but the Nationals got a name change? it's not important), so I made the football team the Cavalry. (I'm all for them staying the Washington Football Team tbh, but that probably wouldn't make sense in the American Royals world). /end sports rant
> 
> thanks for reading!!!


	9. Chapter 9

_take pictures in your mind of your childhood room_

_memorize what it sounded like when your dad gets home_

_remember the footsteps, remember the words said_

_and all your little brother’s favorite songs_

_I just realized everything I have is someday gonna be gone_

_never grow up – taylor swift_

**Wednesday, 7:40 p.m.**

“God, I hate daylight savings. It feels like it’s midnight,” Sara complained, glancing out the window in Beatrice’s office.

“I could always get rid of it,” Beatrice said. She was sitting on the edge of her desk, an outline for tomorrow’s press conference in her hand. “Wait, can I?” she asked Lena.

“Sure,” Lena replied from her spot on the couch. “You might get some flak from the farm lobby, but most people would probably love it.”

“It was invented by some dude who wanted to catch bugs, anyway,” Sean said. 

Beatrice looked up from her paper. “It was?”

“Yeah. George Hudson in 1895. He was an entomologist in New Zealand who wanted more daylight hours after work to go bug hunting. There was also some British guy who wanted to play golf longer.”

“Dollar in the jar,” Lucy said, referring to the ‘Nerd Jar’ that she and Lena had made one night after being forced to listen to Beatrice rant about the invalidity of Corsi numbers as an accurate measuring tool for hockey players. 

Sean grumbled as he walked into Lena’s office to stick a dollar in the mason jar on her desk. “I think that was a response to a question,” he said, trying to invoke the exception for the jar punishment.

“Nope!” Penelope called to her deputy. “No one asked.”

Sean huffed again as he came back in the room. “Back to the press conference,” Lucy began. “I think this is a pretty comprehensive list of the questions you’ll likely get asked.” She handed Beatrice another piece of paper. “I’ll steer anyone who gets off topic back on track. No answers about anything that isn’t the nomination.”

Beatrice saluted at her press secretary. Just as Penelope was about to go into each question in detail, Beatrice’s personal phone began ringing. Glancing at the screen, she saw that it was Teddy. Hitting the side button to stop the noise, she turned back to her staff.

“I’ll call him back,” she said. “Let’s go over -”

Her phone interrupted again. “Hey, is it important, or can I call you back later?” she said as she picked up. 

“Sorry, are you still in the office?” Teddy asked.

“Yeah, we’re prepping for the announcement tomorrow,” Beatrice explained. “Judge Alvarez and her family get here in the morning, I need to do this now.”

There was silence on the other end. “Teddy?” she asked.

“Sorry, I’m here. I was just checking in, call me whenever you can.”

Beatrice couldn’t put her finger on it, but something in his voice was off. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry again for interrupting.” He’d hung up before Beatrice could respond. 

Shaking her head, she put her phone back on the desk. “Okay, Pen. Hit me.”

“That’s actually something you should be prepared for,” Penelope said, nodding toward the phone on Beatrice’s desk.

Beatrice’s brow furrowed. “Phone calls?”

Penelope shook her head. “Questions about what Teddy thinks of the nomination.” She glanced at Lena. “I know he doesn’t have any say in your policy decisions…”

“Well, then why would I get questions about it? I haven’t even talked to him about the nomination,” Beatrice said, more than a little indignant.

Penelope held up her hands. “I know that. But he’s the son of the Duke of Boston, and everyone views him as the future king consort,” she said. “Plus, he has the connection to Yale and Montgomery. People will be curious.”

Beatrice should have seen this coming. Even though she’d called off the wedding, a good portion of the media still treated her and Teddy as a unit. She’d probably been a little naive in thinking that not having a ring on her finger, and keeping Teddy out of Palace operations, would stop people from believing that he was the one who was actually calling the shots. _Teddy’s not even interested in my policy decisions_ , she thought. 

“Okay,” Beatrice conceded. “Let’s figure out an answer for that, then.” She sighed heavily. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Thursday, 7:30 a.m.**

“Your Majesty, Judge Alvarez and her family are in the foyer,” Ben said from the doorway.

“Thanks, Ben.” Beatrice turned back to her staff. “We good?”

Penelope nodded. “Ready when you are.”

Beatrice, Penelope, Sean, and Lucy made their way from the offices to the main entrance of the Palace.

Consuelo Alvarez stood in the foyer with her three children and her mother. 

“Judge Alvarez, good morning!” 

“Your Majesty.” Consuelo returned her handshake. “This is my mother, Josefina Montoya.” 

Beatrice waved off her curtsy. “It’s lovely to meet you, Ms. Montoya.” 

“Likewise, Your Majesty.” Josefina’s handshake was firm. Beatrice smiled at the brooch on her lapel. 

“I didn’t know they made gavel jewelry,” she said. The brooch was encrusted in topaz-colored crystals, popping against the royal blue of Josefina’s jacket. 

“I wore it to Chelo’s swearing-in to the 5th Circuit,” Josefina said, fingering the pin. “I figured it was appropriate for today.” 

“I couldn’t agree more,” Beatrice said. She turned to Consuelo’s three children. “And you must be Lauren, David, and Alex?” 

Lauren curtsied. “Sorry, Your Majesty. I’ve kind of always wanted to do that,” she laughed. “Too many Disney movies as a kid.”

Beatrice laughed. Lauren was older than her, which she knew from the vetting that the staff had done since Sunday. She was currently at home on a break from her job with Doctors Without Borders. Beatrice hoped she’d get the chance to talk to Lauren about healthcare policies at some point. 

David and Alex were both looking up at the chandelier suspended above them. Just as she was about to ask the judge’s family if they’d like a tour of the Palace, Jeff came wandering through the foyer, cup of coffee in hand. 

“Wow. People,” Jeff said as he noticed the group. Beatrice caught Matt’s eye behind Jeff. Matt shrugged and shook his head. “Oh, hey, you’re the judge!” Jeff said to Consuelo. Beatrice had given Samantha a heads up about the nomination yesterday. She must have filled in her twin. “Nice to meet you, Your Honor.” 

Despite his slightly disheveled appearance, Jeff at least hadn’t forgotten his manners.

“Nice to meet you, Your Royal Highness,” Consuelo replied. Jeff waved her off, mirroring his sister’s earlier motion. “Jeff, please.” He shook hands with the rest of the family. 

Beatrice had an idea. “I was just about to ask if they’d like a tour,” Beatrice told her brother. 

His eyes lit up. “I’ll take them! Here, take this.” He shoved his coffee mug into Beatrice’s hand. “Come on, guys. I’ll show you the charred columns from when the British tried to burn the place down.”

“Cool!” Alex said, he and David already trotting after the prince. 

“Please, go on. Jeff loves giving the tour,” Beatrice said to Josefina and Lauren. “Bring them to my office after, please,” she said to Matt, who nodded before following Jeff down the hallway. 

Beatrice was pleased to find that Jeff’s coffee was still hot. They both drank it black, which Samantha thought was disgusting. She took a long sip before turning back to Consuelo.

“You ready to prep for this afternoon?”

“Lead the way, Your Majesty,” the judge replied with a smile. 

“Today should be relatively easy,” Lucy explained as they made their way back to the queen’s office. “We’ve been successful in holding off any leaks of your identity, so the press is going to need some time before they start any hit pieces.”

Consuelo’s eyes widened by a fraction. “There were a couple of articles when I was appointed to the Court of Appeals,” she said. 

“We’ve read them,” Penelope interjected. “For the most part, the focus will largely be on the queen in regard to the press. You’ll have hearings in front of the Senate, like you did before.”

“Should I prep my family for anything?” Consuelo asked. 

“We’ll handle that, Your Honor,” Sean said, as they all settled into Beatrice’s couches. “Despite their overall lack of morals, even the Washington press tends to steer clear of going after the kids. The best thing for them to do if they’re approached by a reporter is to ignore them.”

“The Palace will provide any support it can,” Beatrice assured the judge. “Like Penelope said, it’s me they usually like going after,” she laughed. “We’ll do our best to keep you out of the crossfire, and the focus on your merits.” 

Consuelo nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

“Let’s do this,” Sean said. “We’ll start with your qualifications…”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Friday, 10:50 a.m.**

_Queen Beatrice selects Judge Consuelo Alvarez in first major nomination of her reign, setting up Senate fight_. Nina smiled at the headline. Samantha had called her last night after the press conference, ecstatic at her sister’s decision. 

“Pretty cool, right?” Rachel sat down beside her, gesturing at Nina’s phone. “Everyone’s talking about it.” 

They had just gotten out of their upper level American History class, and had settled in their usual spot in the library. Nina had lost track of how many hours they’d spent in the little circle of armchairs in the corner of the third floor.

She quickly scrolled through the comments at the bottom of the article. The _Post_ was a more serious publication than _The Daily News_ , so most of the comments were at least thoughtful responses. Nina did note a handful of people who thought that Beatrice was being disrespectful to the king by not choosing from his short-list, which one of the gossip sites had acquired through a Palace leak, but a good chunk of the commenters were supportive. 

“Hopefully the Senate doesn’t screw around with the hearings,” Rachel said. The student population of King’s College, by the nature of being in Washington, tended to be very politically active. The class discussions today had largely revolved around the announcement from the Palace last night. “Senator Williams is already kicking up a fuss.”

Nina sighed. “Senator Williams is always kicking up a fuss about something,” she said. “Beatrice knows to ignore him.”

Rachel’s brow furrowed. “I always forget you know the queen. I mean, obviously you do, I guess, since you’re friends with the princess…” she trailed off.

Nina shrugged. “I don’t know her super well,” she said. “I mean, she hangs out with Sam and I sometimes, but she’s busy, obviously.”

“It’s just crazy that someone who’s basically our age has to actually worry about things like Senator Williams’ press conferences. I can barely keep up with class and my part-time job,” Rachel said as she dug around in her bag.

“Yeah, I’ve always thought Beatrice was superhuman,” Nina said. “What are you looking for?”

“Ah-hah!” Rachel pulled her wallet from the bottom of her backpack. “Want anything from downstairs?”

“I’ll get it,” Nina said, popping up. “I need to check with the circulation desk about a book. Cinnamon dulce?”

“You’re the best!” Rachel called after her.

Nina made her way down the stairs. After stopping to grab the book she’d reserved, she headed down to the cafe on the library’s first floor. 

She was waiting for her and Rachel’s orders to be called when a voice spoke beside her. “You haven’t talked to Jeff lately, have you?” 

“Hi, Ethan,” she said pointedly, looking sideways at him. 

“Hi. So, Jeff?” he asked again. 

“No, I haven’t talked to Jeff lately,” Nina said, tamping down her eye roll. “Why are you even asking me? _You’re_ his best friend.”

Ethan sighed. “He hasn’t returned my texts in a couple weeks.”

Nina looked up at him in surprise. “Are you worried about him? I can ask Sam…”

Ethan shook his head. “I’m not worried, exactly. It’s just, when he said he wasn’t going to start school this semester I thought he’d be doing a bit more with his time than...I don’t know. Whatever it is that he’s doing right now.” 

Nina thought of when she’d seen Jeff at the bar all those months ago. He hadn’t seemed exactly _okay_ that night. Was he still drinking that much? Come to think of it, she hadn’t actually recognized any of the people he’d been with. Even Daphne hadn’t been keen to put up with it. 

The barista called her name, setting two to-go cups on the counter. Ethan nodded toward the counter. 

“Sorry for bothering you about Jeff. I’ll see you around.” By the time Nina turned back from grabbing her drinks, Ethan had already disappeared into the crowded library. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Friday, 6:30 p.m.**

“Ben? Am I done?” Beatrice called out her office door.

“Yes, Your Majesty. You’re good for today,” Ben replied from his desk. 

Beatrice stood and walked into the outer office. “You got any fun Friday plans?” she asked. 

Ben shrugged.

“I don’t know what a shrug means, Ben,” she said, laughing. Beatrice leaned against the doorway. 

“Some of my friends from Maryland are in town,” Ben admitted. “But Grandma has bridge on Friday nights.” 

“Go see your friends,” she said, without thinking. 

Ben looked up from the papers he’d been organizing. “I don’t have anyone —”

“Chloe can stay here,” Beatrice cut him off without thinking again. “I can watch her.”

Ben’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Here?”

“Yeah!” Beatrice hadn’t actually babysat before, but it couldn’t be that hard, could it? “She can spend the night. I’m alone this weekend anyway.”

“Are you sure, Your Majesty?” Ben hesitated. 

“Ben, you’re 20 years old and you spend all of your time looking after your sister or looking after me. Go have fun!” she urged. “If you don’t, I’ll spend my whole weekend feeling guilty.” 

Ben smiled. “I’ll go pick Chloe up and bring her here, then?” 

“And then you have to promise not to think about the Palace at all tonight. Seriously.” she said sternly. “Even I got a break every now and again when I was your age.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“I’m going to take a wild guess and assume you haven’t babysat before,” Mike said after Ben left to pick up his sister. “I’m off duty at 8, so don’t expect me to come save you.”

“Oh, because I’m sure you have a ton of experience in that department,” Beatrice replied. 

A flash of sadness went across her Guard’s face. Before she had the time to examine it, however, he’d schooled his features back into his usual scowl. 

“Is there anything even fun in this place for a kid to do? I don’t know how you three managed it,” Mike said as Beatrice gathered her things. 

“I’m sure we can figure it out,” Beatrice said, tossing her planner and iPad into her tote bag. “Chloe spends most afternoons here, and she hasn’t complained as far as I know.” 

Mike laughed. “A whole night is a lot different than a couple hours in the afternoon, kid.” 

Beatrice wagged her finger at him. “Ye of little faith, Michael.” 

She went to her suite to change into more appropriate clothes. She pulled on her favorite jeans, the ones with the hole in the knee that Adelaide threatened to throw away every time she saw them, and an oversized rust-colored sweater. October in Washington was somewhat unpredictable. While it had been over 70 degrees earlier in the day, a chill had settled into the Palace. Two hundred year old buildings weren’t known for their insulation.

Ben returned within the hour, Chloe in tow. 

“Are you really sure, Your Majesty?”

“Ben, if you ask me that again I’m going to force you to stay out the whole weekend,” Beatrice told her aide. “We’ll be fine, right, Chlo?”

Chloe nodded vigorously, her curls flopping. She hugged her Wonder Woman backpack to her chest. “Go, Benny!”

Ben leaned over to kiss his sister on the head. “Thank you, Your Majesty.” 

Beatrice shoved him out the door. Once Ben was gone, she turned to Chloe. 

“Okay! Have you had dinner?” Chloe shook her head. “Let’s go put your stuff down and then we can find something to eat.”

She led Chloe up the stairs to her suite. The little girl stepped into Beatrice’s room slowly. 

“This is your room? You live in here?” Her brown eyes were skeptical.

Beatrice chuckled. “Yes? Is there something wrong with it?” 

Chloe jumped onto the couch, bouncing up and down as she looked around. She took in the antique furniture, and the filigree on the light fixtures. Finally, she shrugged. “It’s okay, I guess.” 

“Just okay?” Beatrice asked as she put Chloe’s bag on the coffee table. Chloe nodded, and got down to pet Franklin, who had emerged from Beatrice’s bedroom when he’d heard the front door open. Beatrice decided to let it go. “You hungry? We can go see what Chef Greg has or we can order delivery.”

Chloe tilted her head in thought. “Tacos!” 

Beatrice realized her error. She’d never actually ordered any takeout herself. Someone had always done that for her. It struck her how ridiculous that was.

She pulled her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans. “Do you care where the tacos are from?” she asked Chloe. 

“Ben gets them from the place down the street from our apartment,” she replied, kicking her heels against the sofa. Beatrice smiled at Chloe’s pink sparkly shoelaces.

She didn’t actually know where Ben and Chloe lived. Ben sometimes worked eighty-hour weeks for her, and yet she had no idea what neighborhood he lived in. “Where’s that?”

“Water Street.” Beatrice’s head shot up. That was on the other side of town. Ben sometimes didn’t leave the Palace until after midnight.

“How does Ben get home?”

Chloe shrugged. “The Metro. Unless it’s late, then he has to take the bus. He likes the Metro better. The bus stop is far.”

“Oh,” Beatrice said. Why hadn’t she thought to ask Ben about his commute? Beatrice didn’t even know where the closest Metro stop to the Palace was. She’d never ridden it. Shaking her head, she searched for taco shops on Water Street. “Does this look like it?” she asked Chloe, holding her phone out.

“Yup! Chicken, please!” 

Beatrice’s finger hovered over the shop’s phone number. “Do I just say I want to order for delivery?” she asked, looking back at Chloe.

Chloe nodded, giggling. “Don’t use queen voice though,” she said.

“Queen voice?”

“Yeah. Queen voice makes you sound mean.”

“Oh. It does?” Chloe was certainly educating her on some things tonight. 

Beatrice managed to order with only a little difficulty. The woman who’d answered the phone was convinced that she was kidding about her address being the Palace, but Beatrice had eventually convinced her that she was telling the truth. After some slight confusion from the front gate, since Beatrice hadn’t thought to warn them about the arrival of tacos, she and Chloe made their way to the theater room with their dinner. Samantha was at an event in Seattle, her mother had gone to Canaveral for the weekend, and who knew where Jeff was, so they had the run of the place.

The end credits of _Mulan_ were playing when Chloe piped up from her leather armchair. “I want cookies!” 

Beatrice checked her watch. “It’s kind of late, Chlo. I don’t know if your brother wants you eating sugar right before bed.”

Chloe hopped up onto the armrest of Beatrice’s chair. “Please?” she said, drawing the word out in the same way Sam used to when she was trying to convince their dad to let them stay up late. Beatrice laughed as Chloe gave her puppy-dog eyes.

“Okay, we can go see what’s in the kitchens,” she conceded. Chloe dashed out the door. 

“Sorry, bud. No dogs in the kitchen,” Beatrice said to Franklin, who’d been asleep on her feet. The lab huffed, then dutifully trotted off back toward Beatrice’s suite. 

By the time Beatrice followed her downstairs, Chloe was already rummaging through the freezer. 

“There’s no cookie dough in here!” Chloe yelled, flinging herself dramatically to the floor. 

Beatrice stepped over her, scanning the freezer. “Huh, you’re right. My sister must have eaten it,” she told Chloe. The little girl sighed heavily, then bolted upright.

“We can make some!”

“Wait, Chlo-” Chloe was already headed for the large walk-in pantry. Beatrice followed.

“See?” Chloe said, pointing to a row of shelves above her head. Large jars labeled with various baking supplies lined the upper shelves. “There’s chocolate chips.”

“Are you sure you want cookies?” Beatrice asked. The kitchen was not a place that she had spent a lot of time in. The little girl’s eyes went wide again as she grabbed Beatrice’s hand, dragging her further into the pantry. 

“Good babysitters make cookies,” Chloe pleaded.

A bubble of laughter burst out of Beatrice’s throat. “Well, I can’t be a bad babysitter. I need a back-up gig in case this whole Queen thing doesn’t work out.” 

Pulling out her phone again, Beatrice searched for chocolate chip cookie recipes. After gathering the ingredients on the counter, and further research on whether there was a difference between baking soda and baking powder, she managed to find a large bowl and a hand mixer. Or at least what she was pretty sure was a hand mixer. Chloe found a step stool in the pantry and pulled it up to the large stainless steel island. 

“Do you know what ‘preheat the oven’ means?” Beatrice asked, leaning her elbows on the counter. 

Chloe’s brow furrowed. “I’m six,” she replied. 

Beatrice laughed again. “Right.”

She was halfway through typing ‘oven preheat’ into the search engine when her phone started ringing. 432 area code. Beatrice tilted her head, looking at the screen.

“Are you going to answer that?” Chloe asked, reaching into the jar of chocolate chips.

Only a handful of people had her personal phone number. It was unlisted, and didn’t show up on caller ID. “Hello?”

“Hey. It’s, um, me.”

Beatrice’s face broke into a smile. “Sorry, I don’t know anyone named Me.”

“You’re a riot,” Connor replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. 

“Who is it?” Chloe asked, pulling the bowl closer to her. 

“It’s my friend,” Beatrice told her, handing her the measuring cups before she knocked them off the counter. 

Chloe’s brow furrowed again. “You don’t have any friends.”

Connor’s laughter sounded in her ear. 

“I’m glad you’re here to hear me get roasted by a six-year-old,” Beatrice said as she reached over to ruffle Chloe’s hair. 

“Why are you hanging out with a six-year-old, anyway?” Connor asked, still laughing.

“She’s my personal aide’s little sister. I made him go out with his friends tonight,” Beatrice explained. “Hey, you probably know what ‘preheat the oven’ means.”

“Are you _baking_?” Connor’s voice was shocked, and possibly a little concerned. 

“I do not appreciate the tone, but yes. How hard can it be?” Beatrice pushed her sleeves up.

Connor laughed again. “Well, seeing as how you don’t know how to even turn the oven on…”

“I have had other things to worry about!” 

“Do you know where the oven _is_?” he asked.

Beatrice pointed toward what she was pretty sure was the oven, looking to Chloe for confirmation. The Palace kitchens had multiple ovens, but Beatrice didn’t think there was any difference between them. The little girl rolled her eyes, and nodded. 

“She’s hopeless,” Chloe leaned toward the phone. 

Beatrice grabbed Chloe’s side, tickling her. “You’re going on speaker,” she warned Connor. “Chloe, say hello.” She set the phone on the counter.

“Hello, Beatrice’s friend!”

“Hi, Chloe,” Connor replied, trying to suppress more laughter. 

He talked Beatrice through turning on one of the ovens, then patiently explained how to use the hand mixer, warning her not to turn it on a high setting when mixing in the flour. After only getting a small amount of egg shell into the dough, they ended up with perfectly acceptable chocolate chip cookie dough, if Beatrice did say so herself.

“Okay, Chlo. I’ll make you a deal. I’ll finish these and clean up in here, you go get ready for bed,” Beatrice said. “I’ll bring the cookies up with me.”

Chloe got down off the stool, shaking flour out of her hair and off her shirt. “Don’t burn them!” she ordered. “Bye, Beatrice’s friend!” she yelled toward the phone as she hurried out of the room. At this point, Chloe probably knew her way around the Palace better than Beatrice did. 

“Sweet kid,” Connor said.

Beatrice laughed. “She keeps me on my toes, that’s for sure. She told me earlier that my ‘queen voice’ makes me sound mean.”

Connor chuckled. “I don’t know if I’d say _mean_.”

“Wait, what does my ‘queen voice’ sound like?” she asked, putting the mixing bowl in the sink. She didn’t trust herself to go near the dishwasher. 

“I don’t know, Bee. I just know it when I hear it,” he said.

Beatrice hummed. “I’ll have to pay more attention next time I watch a speech back. Now, more important topic. How are you? And don’t just say ‘fine.’” She started wiping down the counter. Chef Greg would rage if she didn’t leave the kitchens spotless. 

“Oh, ‘cause you’d give me a more detailed answer than ‘fine?’”

Beatrice had almost forgotten what it was like to talk to someone who knew her so well. “You can read about how I’m doing in _The Daily News_ ,” she dodged. “I don’t get any paparazzi shots of you.” 

“Which is a real pity,” he sighed dramatically. “The people of America are missing out.”

Beatrice blew a raspberry into the phone. 

Connor laughed. “How regal of you,” he said. “Seriously though, I’m good. The job is good.”

“Hector’s good to you?” she asked, carrying the phone into the pantry to put away the jars of ingredients.

“I am well-compensated, if that’s what you’re asking.”

It had been. Beatrice would have written a strongly worded letter otherwise. “You like Houston?”

“I can get breakfast tacos whenever I want, so I don’t have many complaints,” he said.

Beatrice stopped scrubbing the measuring cups. “Wait, tacos for breakfast? Why has no one told me about this?”

“If you’re ever back down here, I’ll take you to get some,” he promised.

“You’d better,” she gave him a stern look that she hoped he could feel through the phone. “How’s Kaela? She liking Austin still?”

“You remember?” Connor asked.

“Where your sister goes to school? Why wouldn’t I?”

“No reason. You’re just busy is all,” he said. “She loves it. She says the fashion is much better than in El Real.”

“I’d imagine,” Beatrice laughed. “No offense to your hometown. She still want to be a designer?”

“That’s her plan, yeah. She’s going to try and get an internship in New York this summer.”

Beatrice couldn’t imagine moving to New York on her own. Or anywhere on her own, really. 

“If she needs any recommendations or anything, I can probably help,” Beatrice offered. “Not that she _needs_ help or -”

“I know what you meant, Bee. It’s nice of you to offer,” Connor cut her off. “Now tell me about this new staff of yours. Quite the press conference you put on yesterday.”

“You watched it?” 

“Of course I did. I’m a very civically engaged person.” 

Beatrice smiled. Despite his joking tone, she knew he was serious. They used to talk about politics all the time. “Well, you met Lena, sort of.”

“Ah, yes,” he chuckled. “She was trying to keep Lucy from breaking down?” 

“Lena does a lot of keeping all of us from breaking down,” Beatrice said as she peered into the oven. “When they say ‘golden brown,’ what do they mean?”

She could practically hear Connor’s eye roll. “What it sounds like, Bee. They’ll keep cooking on the sheet when you take them out, so it’s better to take them out too early than too late,” he added. “Lena’s your chief of staff?”

Beatrice nodded before remembering he couldn’t see her. “Yeah, she’s great. I’d be lost without her.”

“And Lucy’s your press secretary? Who you give aneurysms?”

By the time Beatrice had run through the rest of her new staff, both sheets of cookies were done. Connor laughed a little bit at her burning two of her fingers on the baking rack, before telling her to run her hand under cold water. 

“It’s late where you are,” Connor said after Beatrice assured him that she hadn’t done any actual damage to her hand. “I’ll let you get back to Chloe.”

“I’m sure she and Franklin are doing fine,” Beatrice laughed. “Petey, Jake, could one of you grab the door for me?” she called. One hand held a plate of cookies, the other her phone, and her attempts to use her foot to turn the handle were unsuccessful.

“You have two Guards on you at night?” Connor sounded surprised. The night shift used to just rotate around the Palace. Having one Guard posted on Beatrice at night would have been enough of a security increase. Having _two_ was clearly concerning to him. 

“It’s just Ron being paranoid,” Beatrice explained quickly. “Don’t get growly on me.”

“Beatrice —”

“Nope! Everything’s fine. You know what kind of threats I get.” Connor grunted in confirmation. “It’s just that now instead of being a heartbeat away from the throne, I am the heartbeat. So Ron’s being a little extra crazy about it.”

Connor was silent for a moment. “Sorry,” he sighed. “I know you don’t like it when I — I just worry about you.”

Beatrice smiled to herself as she walked up the stairs to the second floor. “I know you do. But I have very capable Guards looking after me. So stop.”

“Yes, _Your Majesty_ ,” Connor said. Beatrice blew another raspberry. He laughed. “Night, Bee. Don’t forget to have Chloe brush her teeth.” 

“You’re a way better babysitter than me,” she said. “I’ll talk to you later?”

“Yeah, Bee. Call me anytime.” His voice was warm. 

“Night, Connor.” She put her phone in her back pocket as Jake opened the door to her suite. 

“Cookies!” Chloe jumped off the couch, where she’d been lounging in her pajamas, pink of course, with Franklin. “You didn’t even burn them!” she said, grabbing one off the top as Beatrice held the plate toward her. She chewed, then nodded in satisfaction. “These will do.” 

Beatrice chuckled. She was oddly proud of their handiwork. She rarely actually _made_ anything. 

“Okay. Cookies, teeth, bed,” she told Chloe. 

“Cookies, teeth, _story_ , bed,” Chloe countered, her eyes narrowing. 

“You drive a hard bargain,” Beatrice said. “Deal.”

After she’d conned Beatrice out of five cookies, Chloe went to brush her teeth. Beatrice set up the couch in the sitting room with an extra set of sheets, making sure there were enough blankets and pillows. Fortunately for Chloe, Beatrice’s tendency to run cold meant that she had plenty of extra bed linens in her room. 

She read _two_ stories before Chloe finally drifted off, her curls splayed wildly.

Despite being tired from entertaining Chloe, Beatrice tried to read a chapter of the book she was reading on the history of the Cherokee. She must have drifted off herself, because she woke with a jolt several hours later. She didn’t realize why she’d woken so suddenly until she heard the sound again. 

“Chloe?” she called into the dark as she went into her sitting room. The little girl was tossing and turning on the couch, whimpering slightly. “Chloe, it’s okay. You’re dreaming.” Beatrice stroked Chloe’s curls off her face as she tentatively sat on the edge of the sofa. 

Chloe woke on a sob. She looked frantically around the room as she sat up. 

“You’re in the Palace, remember? It’s okay,” Beatrice said again. Chloe’s eyes focused on her, and the little girl’s arms came around Beatrice’s neck. Beatrice sat still for a moment. She wasn’t sure if anyone had ever sought comfort from her before, and she wasn’t quite sure what to do. Finally, she settled her arms around Chloe’s back, pulling her closer. 

Beatrice couldn’t remember anyone comforting her after a nightmare when she was small. Surely her parents had? But her mind was blank.

“Did you have a bad dream?” she spoke into Chloe’s curls.

Chloe nodded. “It was the bad night again.”

 _The bad night?_ Beatrice thought, before making the connection. “Is the bad night when your parents died?” Chloe nodded, burying her face in Beatrice’s neck. Beatrice felt a surge of protectiveness. She had her own _bad night_. Someone so small having those kinds of memories made her heart constrict. She hugged Chloe a little tighter. 

“Can I stay with you?” Chloe asked in a small voice, muffled against Beatrice’s hair. A memory of a toddler Sam and Jeff curling up next to her came to mind. Beatrice wasn’t sure if it was even real. She stood with Chloe in her arms, making a mental note to maybe work on her upper body strength. 

“Of course you can.” She carried her into her bedroom, flicking on the bedside lamp to its lowest setting. A dim glow lit the room. 

“Better?” Beatrice asked as she set Chloe down, pulling the covers over her. Chloe nodded, closing her eyes again as she settled into the pillow. Franklin jumped up onto the bed, laying his head on top of Chloe’s feet. 

Beatrice checked the clock as she climbed in on her side. It was just after 3 a.m. She shook her head. One of these days she’d get a full night’s sleep. She watched Chloe for signs of any more bad dreams, before eventually drifting back into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i took a minute to post this one. i'm trying to stay at least one chapter ahead to prevent any lulls, and several characters have some major emotional shit to push through in the next few (the washington siblings are a deeply messed up bunch, i love them dearly). it'll be fun!
> 
> as always, thanks for reading!!!


	10. Chapter 10

_man this shit’s unflatterin’, all up in my head again_

_I don’t feel myself right now, maybe I should just lay down_

_if vanity’s my vitamin, well, I don’t feel the difference_

_I don’t like myself right now, gotta find a way out_

_girl – maren morris_

**December 2021**

**Saturday morning - Three Weeks until the Queen’s Ball**

“Oh, that one is just lovely,” Queen Adelaide said. Beatrice caught Sam’s eye in the mirror. Her sister made a gagging motion behind their mother’s back, sticking her finger into her open mouth. 

“You don’t think it’s a little too...crinkly?” Beatrice asked. They were standing in their large shared closet, trying looks for the Queen’s Ball. The stylists had just put Beatrice in a periwinkle taffeta gown that hugged her body in overlapping layers of fabric before flaring out at the knees and falling in a mass around her feet. A fabric rosette clung to one of the capped sleeves. It was truly a monstrosity. 

“Oh, Beatrice. That color is very in this season,” Adelaide chided. Beatrice had truly no idea what color was ever in in any season, so she’d have to trust her mom on that. 

“It’s just not my fav—”

Adelaide ignored her. “Yes, this one for the queen.” She gestured at Beatrice’s gown. “Now, Samantha.”

Sam made eye contact with Beatrice again in the mirror, flicking her eyes in their mother’s direction. Beatrice shrugged. Sam let out a deep sigh, then stepped up on the raised platform. 

“Don’t trip on that hem,” she said, shooting another horrified glance at the gown. 

Beatrice proceeded to do exactly that as she stepped off the platform. The stylists’ assistants helped her unzip and untangle herself from the taffeta monster. 

Once she was safely back in her jeans and sweater, she stepped back around the privacy screen. Adelaide gave her another once-over. 

“You know how I feel about you wearing anything that bares your midriff, Beatrice,” she sniffed. 

Beatrice looked down at her sweater. It was cropped, but the bottom hem met the waistband of her jeans. It wasn’t exactly scandalous. 

“Sorry, Mom,” she said. “It’s Saturday, though.”

Adelaide grabbed one of the gowns off of the rack that had been pulled for Sam, handing it to a stylist. “You’re the queen every day, Beatrice.” 

Sam took the gown from the stylist. She met Beatrice’s eyes again, jerking her chin toward their mother’s turned back. Beatrice shook her head. Sam rolled her eyes, heading back behind the screen. 

“I hate it already,” Sam said as she emerged. Beatrice actually thought the gown wasn’t bad, but it was true that it wasn’t very _Sam_. 

“It’s more subtle than you usually go for,” Beatrice said, which earned her a glare from her sister. 

“Subtle is what we want,” Adelaide said, pulling another gown. “You can’t always be trying to upstage your sister.”

Sam flinched slightly. Beatrice’s head snapped in her mother’s direction. “That isn’t what she’s doing, Mom.”

Adelaide ignored her elder daughter. “Try this next one.”

Sam snatched the dress from her hands. 

“This one’s pretty, Sammie,” Beatrice told her as she emerged. It was another simple cut, but the emerald green color of the silk was stunning. The gown hugged Sam’s waist before flaring out around her hips. The classic silhouette played off Sam’s features in a striking contrast. 

She could tell her sister liked it. Sam rocked her hips back and forth slightly, causing the hem to twirl around her feet. 

“Far too much cleavage,” Adelaide said, turning back to the rack. 

Beatrice looked back at her sister. The thin straps of the gown did show off Sam’s décolletage, but the straight neckline was perfectly appropriate for the Queen’s Ball, at least in Beatrice’s opinion. Plus, Sam seemed to like it.

“I don’t think it’s too much,” she said at their mother’s back. “The neckline isn’t even that low. Plus, it’s green for Christmas.”

Adelaide turned back around. “It might have been fine for Samantha to dress like this before, but it is not acceptable anymore.” 

“What do you mean _anymore_? Sam can wear what she wants,” Beatrice urged. Her sister tilted her head, shooting her a slightly puzzled look. 

“Beatrice, honestly.” Adelaide handed off several more gowns. “It’s high time your sister started acting more befitting of her role.”

Anger shot through her. “Sam has done everything that has been asked of her, without complaint,” Beatrice said, her voice growing slightly louder with each word. “Why are you being so hard on her?”

The dowager queen shot a look at the head stylist, who motioned to the rest of the staff. The sisters were suddenly alone with their mother.

“Do not cause a scene like that again,” Adelaide’s voice was cold.

“Scene? No one caused a scene,” Samantha interjected. 

Their mother pursed her lips, taking a deep breath through her nose. “I understand that you two have been forced into roles that you weren’t quite ready for. Certainly you,” she looked pointedly at Sam. “But you both have certain duties that you must fulfill, whether you like it or not.”

Beatrice’s brow furrowed. “We understand that, Mom. I was just saying that I think that Sam looks pretty in the dress, and she should wear it if she wants to.”

Adelaide whirled on her. “You think _wanting_ has anything to do with it? It doesn’t matter what _you want_.” She shook her head. “Clearly not something you understand just yet.” She seemed to add this as an afterthought. 

Beatrice had given up plenty of things she’d wanted over the years in the name of duty. “I’m sorry?”

Adelaide had gone back to sorting through the racks of gowns. “Calling off your wedding at the eleventh hour, like some kind of flighty child. And now all of this nonsense with these new people.” She flapped her hand over her shoulder. “If you had wanted to hire a new Lord Chamberlain, we have lists of people qualified for the job.” Adelaide’s tone made clear that she had been holding these thoughts in for some time.

“I didn’t want a new Lord Chamberlain, Mom. That was the whole point,” Beatrice said. 

“And she doesn’t have to get _married_ ,” Sam said under her breath.

Adelaide sighed deeply. “I’m just glad your father isn’t around to see any of this. He would be so disappointed.”

Beatrice jolted. Her mother hadn’t even turned to look at her when she said it, but Beatrice rocked back as though she’d been slapped. 

“Mom!” Sam’s voice was shocked, her eyes going to her sister. “Bee, that isn’t –”

Their mother turned, checking the delicate watch on her wrist. “I have lunch scheduled with the Marchioness of Charlotte. I’ll let the stylists know which gowns you’ve chosen,” she said, strolling out of the room, oblivious to the looks on her daughters’ faces. 

Beatrice sank down onto a footstool. Sam rushed to her, kneeling at her side. 

“That isn’t true, Bee.” She grabbed Beatrice’s hands in hers, her eyes imploring. “She’s just upset or something. Dad wouldn’t be disappointed in you.”

Beatrice took in a deep breath through her nose, trying to stave off the tears forming behind her eyes. “He wouldn’t have been happy about the wedding, you know that,” she said around the lump in her throat.

Sam rolled her eyes. “He’d have gotten over it, Bee. Who knows if you’d have even set a date if he hadn’t…”

“Died,” Beatrice finished dully. “It’s fine, Sam,” she said as she stood. “I’m fine.”

“Bee –”

“You should wear that dress,” Beatrice cut her off. “You look really pretty.”

She could tell that her sister wasn’t pleased with her change of subject. Sam sighed, looking down at the emerald silk. “You think?”

“Definitely,” she said. “Marshall will probably keel over dead at the sight of you.”

Samantha laughed, looking at herself in the mirror. “Might as well have some fun. The Queen’s Ball is always such a snooze fest.”

Beatrice laughed. “I don’t disagree,” she said, rifling through the rack that had been pulled for her. 

“Couldn’t we change —”

Beatrice cut her sister off. “Don’t even suggest it, Sam. That would send Mom over the edge.” 

Samantha snorted. “Fair enough,” she said. “There’s always next year…” She came up behind Beatrice to nudge her in the side. “You going to try anything else on?” 

Beatrice sighed. “Nah.” She ran a hand through her hair. “I’m not in the mood to deal with it. I’ll just wear the one Mom picked.”

Sam made another gagging noise as she pulled off her gown. 

“Lunch?” Beatrice asked, ignoring her sister’s comment. 

Sam smiled as she pulled her sweater over her head. “I’m in. Hal’s? I think a milkshake is necessary.” 

Beatrice looped her arm through her sister’s and led the way out of the room. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Thursday afternoon - One Week until the Queen’s Ball**

“Okay, Your Majesty will stand here,” Ginny, Queen Adelaide’s press secretary, said as she maneuvered Beatrice with her hand. “Your Grace, over here to the side,” she said to Teddy. “You’re not officially part of the ceremony, but you’ll be in sight of the cameras.”

They were standing in the Palace ballroom, doing a run-through of the ceremonial portion of the Queen’s Ball. Beatrice had been to enough Queen’s Balls at this point in her life that she thought the rehearsal was a bit of a waste, but she’d been trying to appease her mother more lately.

Beatrice had had Samantha help choose this year’s candidates for knighthood. They’d compiled a list of people from around the country, with occasional help from both of their staffs, who they felt deserved the honor. This would be the first Queen’s Ball since Beatrice’s coronation, and Adelaide reminded her frequently that this would _set the tone_ for her reign. Personally, Beatrice had started to find the whole thing rather inane, but she wouldn’t break with tradition.

As Ginny turned to speak to Teddy, a tiny wad of paper hit Beatrice’s forehead, bouncing onto the floor. She glared at Marshall, who was standing off to her left, behind where Samantha would be standing. He feigned innocence, quickly putting his hands behind his back.

“Now, Your Grace,” Ginny turned to Marshall. “If you don’t mind standing in for Her Royal Highness for a moment?” Sam had gotten stuck at an event in Philadelphia and wasn’t there to participate. 

Marshall hopped up onto the dais next to Beatrice. “Do I get a scroll to read from?” he asked Ginny. 

Beatrice rolled her eyes. “You know it’s not a scroll.”

“Don’t ruin the illusion for me, Busy.” He straightened up, pretending to unroll a scroll with great flourish. Beatrice snorted. 

Ginny went back to explaining how the event would proceed. She’d wrangled a few of the Palace footmen into standing in as honorees. As she turned to them to explain the path they should walk, another ball of paper hit Beatrice, this time sticking in her hair. She grabbed it, flicking it at Marshall’s ear before Ginny could turn back around. They both smiled as Ginny looked up at them, her eyes scrutinizing. 

As Beatrice turned to mime pinning a medal onto one of the footmen, she caught sight of Teddy. He was standing off of the dais, his eyes watching her and Marshall. His brows were drawn together, his head tilted. He must have felt Beatrice’s eyes on him, because he straightened and smiled at her. 

“Your Majesty?” Ben appeared at the far end of the ballroom.

“Thank the lord,” Beatrice said under her breath. She turned to Ginny. “Sorry, Ginny. Duty calls.” She walked quickly toward her personal aide, enjoying the click of her heels on the marble floor of the ballroom. 

“The Italian ambassador is waiting for your call,” Ben said as she got closer. 

Beatrice’s brow furrowed. “Our guy in Italy or their guy here?”

“Sorry, our guy in Italy. Something about refugees. Lena’s in your office.” 

She, Lena, and Minister of State Reese spoke with the Italian ambassador regarding the latest developments in the Italian government’s stance on refugee resettlement. Beatrice had asked the American ambassadors to Italy, Greece, Malta, and several other Mediterranean countries to try and work out a more firm agreement for resources for the influx of refugees over the last several years. So far, the negotiations weren’t going very well. 

Beatrice had just collapsed into her chair behind her desk when Marshall strolled through the open door, flopping down onto a couch. 

“You traitor,” he said, kicking his heels up onto the armrest. “Did you pay your assistant off to get you out of that?” 

Beatrice rolled her eyes. “Yeah, Marshall. There’s no possible way the Queen of America had anything better to do in the middle of the day than rehearse for an event that she’s done over a dozen times.” 

Marshall sighed theatrically. “The sacrifices I make for you people. Do you know how many times Ginny made me walk up those steps so they could adjust camera angles? I’m sure I have blisters now,” he said, wiggling his loafer-ed feet in the air. 

“You can talk to me about blisters when you’ve walked around a ballroom in four-inch heels for six hours,” Beatrice glared at him. “My right heel was basically raw after my uncle’s birthday party.”

Marshall flapped a hand in the air, waving her complaint away. He sat up slightly, grabbing one of Beatrice’s books off the end table. 

“Make yourself at home,” Beatrice said pointedly. 

He laid down again, opening the book over his face. “Sam is still stuck in Philly, and you know how I get when I’m unsupervised.” 

This was a fair point. The head groundskeeper had officially banned Marshall from the lawns at the back of the Palace after he’d spent an afternoon practicing his golf shot by chipping dissolvable balls into the Potomac. The issue had been that Marshall’s version of ‘working on his golf shot’ involved copious consumption of Coors Light. Visitors could have tracked his blood alcohol content by the depth of the divots in the grass. At some point a nine iron had made its way through one of the downstairs windows. 

Beatrice went back to her briefings in preparation for her meeting with the High Constable in the morning. They’d been sitting in silence for a while when a knock came from the doorway. 

“Sorry, your aide stepped away,” Teddy leaned in. Beatrice had the odd urge to ask him if he knew her aide’s _name_ , but pushed that thought away. She didn’t even know where that had come from. 

“You’re fine, my schedule is fairly free this week. It is almost Christmas, after all,” Beatrice said, beckoning him into the room. 

Teddy’s smile faltered slightly as he spotted Marshall. “Davis,” he greeted. 

“Eaton,” Marshall replied without looking up from his book. 

Teddy turned back to Beatrice. “Dan and Peyton are in town, they’re wondering if we want to do dinner?”

Beatrice instantly regretted admitting that her schedule was easy this week. Dan, who was Teddy’s childhood friend, and his girlfriend Peyton were two of the most boring people Beatrice had ever met, and she had met a lot of boring people. 

“Sure!” she said, hoping she sounded appropriately enthusiastic. “Sounds good.” Maybe Dan would have found a conversation topic besides polo by now. 

“Great,” Teddy smiled. He rounded her desk, pulling her to stand. She barely had time to register the look on his face before his lips were on hers. He deepened the kiss, his arms banding around her waist. Beatrice leaned back as his teeth nipped at her bottom lip. 

She tilted her head in confusion, her hands on his chest holding him away. 

“Sorry,” he said, a little sheepish. “You just look really pretty today.”

Beatrice quirked an eyebrow. “Do I not normally?”

Teddy sputtered. “Of course you do! I meant —”

“Teddy,” she interrupted, stepping back toward her desk. “I’m kidding.” He still had a mildly panicked look on his face. “I do need to finish this though, if we’re going out tonight.” She gestured to her desk. 

“Right, of course.” He straightened. “Seven okay?”

“Should be,” she replied. He kissed her on the cheek, then walked out of her office. 

Beatrice looked over at Marshall, who hadn’t looked up from his book at all during Teddy’s sudden display of affection. “There’s no way you’re actually reading about the scientific theory of war,” she said. 

He ignored this comment. “Why did you agree to dinner with Daniel Farrow?” he asked. 

Beatrice sighed as she sank back into her chair. “He’s one of Teddy’s best friends,” she explained. “He’s not that bad.”

Marshall snorted. “Yes he is. And that girlfriend of his is even worse.” He sat up completely this time, putting his feet back on the floor. “Why don’t you just tell Teddy that his friends suck?” 

“You’ve been hanging out with my sister too much,” Beatrice said. “They’re his friends. What am I going to do, tell him he can’t hang out with them anymore?”

“No, but you can refuse to hang out with them yourself,” Marshall said. He placed the book back on the end table. 

“Would you tell Sam that you didn’t like hanging out with Nina?” 

Marshall rolled his eyes. “That’s a false equivalency if I’ve ever heard one. Nina is great. Dan Farrow is a douche-canoe.” 

“I agree completely,” Lena said as she came through from her adjoining office. “I don’t know why we’re on this topic, but I support it.” She walked to Beatrice’s desk, placing a folder on top of her briefings. “I just came from a meeting with the deputy director of the FBI. There’s more for you to review before tomorrow,” she gestured to the folder she’d just set down. 

Beatrice groaned. 

“Sorry,” Lena at least looked chagrined. “Didn’t mean to add to your bad night.”

She sighed. “I’m being unfair. Having dinner with Teddy’s friends isn’t the worst thing in the world.”

“If you don’t mind hanging out with a racist ass,” Lena said under her breath. Beatrice almost didn’t catch it. Her head snapped up.

“What?” She certainly didn’t like Dan or Peyton, but she’d never heard them saying anything _racist_. At least, she didn’t think she had. 

“It’s nothing, Beatr – Your Majesty,” she caught herself, glancing at Marshall. “Daniel Farrow Senior was a partner at the law firm I was at in New York.” She shrugged.

“Did he say something to you?” Beatrice asked. Lena had let slip that part of the reason she’d left the firm was that she hadn’t felt welcome. She’d been the only Black woman at the New York office. During one of their late nights, she’d told Beatrice about the time a client had mistaken her for a secretary, and had refused to accept that she was a junior associate.

“No. It wasn’t like that.” She paused, looking over at Marshall again. 

“Guys like that don’t say it to your face,” Marshall said to Beatrice. “The younger Farrow is just your typical privileged dick.” 

Beatrice tuned out a vast majority of anything Dan Farrow said, but what Lena and Marshall were telling her made sense. “I guess I’ve just never paid attention,” she said.

“That’s because you become The Queen whenever you’re with Teddy and his friends,” Lena said. It wasn’t the first time she’d said something like that. Beatrice was about to ask her chief of staff what she meant when Ben knocked on the door. 

“Your Majesty, your mother would like to see you in the china room,” he said. _Can this day get any worse?_

“I’ll be right down,” Beatrice replied. “Marshall, you’re going to have to find someone else to supervise you.” 

“I’ll walk with you. Maybe your brother is around here somewhere.” Marshall stood. 

“That is not the supervision I meant,” she said, leading the way out of her office. They walked along the corridor, their steps muffled by the carpet. 

“Sorry if I overstepped about Farrow,” Marshall said. “I know you don’t need any more stress this week.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Beatrice reached up to squeeze Marshall’s arm. “At a certain point I just hit terminal velocity for stress. You didn’t tell me anything I didn’t already know anyway.” 

Marshall laughed. “I do not envy your life, Busy Bee.” He veered off toward the staircase. 

“Stay out of trouble,” Beatrice called after him. She heard his laughter echo through the foyer. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Friday - Christmas Eve, Night Before Queen’s Ball**

Beatrice stood in the center of her sitting room, a seamstress pinning final alterations into place on her gown. She stared at her reflection in the tri-fold mirror that had been brought in. The dress was still just as awful as it had been when her mother had first put her in it. 

“Your Majesty, Ms. Crawford,” Mike’s voice carried through the door as he knocked. 

“Come in, Lena,” Beatrice called. “What are you doing here? It’s Christmas Eve!” she admonished her chief of staff. 

Lena sighed, shrugging her coat off and placing it gingerly over the back of a chair. “I’m on the nine o’clock to Charleston. We need to talk.”

Beatrice met Lena’s eyes in the mirror. “Connie, could you give us a minute?” she asked the seamstress, who was kneeling at her hemline. 

“Of course, Your Majesty,” Connie bobbed a curtsy and left the room. 

“Is it snowing yet?” Beatrice asked. The forecast had called for it, but so far all the sky had done was spit sleet, wreaking havoc on the Washington roadways. 

Lena shook her head. “Is that your dress for tomorrow?” She clamped her mouth shut, as though trying to hold her words in. 

Beatrice laughed. “It’s horrendous, you can say it.”

“Why are you wearing a gown that you think is horrendous?” Lena asked, reaching out to pluck at the rosette on Beatrice’s shoulder. 

She shrugged. “My mother picked it out. Purple is _in_ this season or something.”

Lena _hmm_ -ed. “That’s actually sort of what I wanted to talk to you about,” she said. 

Beatrice cocked her head to the side. “Seasonal colors?”

“No,” Lena snorted. She ran her hand along the back of the antique sofa, her fingers trailing along the intricate carvings. Her nails and lipstick were a bright, Christmas red. “Why did you cancel the meeting with Elena Caldwell?” 

Beatrice turned toward her. “How did you know I canceled that?”

Lena rolled her eyes. “I’m your chief of staff, Beatrice.”

Beatrice sank onto the armrest of the sofa, being careful not to step on her voluminous hem. “I didn’t _cancel_ it necessarily. I just thought it might be best to wait until after the New Year.”

Elena Caldwell was a junior Tribune from Orange. She’d been a vocal opponent of Dalton’s pipeline, and had been trying for months to garner support for legislation to increase federal investment in alternative energy sources. 

Lena looked at her for a long moment, leaning on her hands on the back of the opposite couch. “No you don’t,” Lena accused. “ _You_ don’t think that. _You_ agree with Caldwell.”

Lena was right that it hadn’t been her idea to push the meeting. It had been pointed out to her, by her mother and by her father’s peers, that Elena Caldwell was a contentious figure in Washington, and meeting with her could be seen as a massive detour by the traditionally non-partisan Palace. That had been part of what her mom had wanted to talk to her about the other day in the china room. That and stemware for the ball. 

“Well, of course I do. I just —”

Lena cut her off. “But _The Queen_ doesn’t.”

Beatrice threw her hands up. “Okay, what do you mean when you say that? You always say ‘the queen’ like it’s a dirty word.”

“What I mean is that there are times when you are Beatrice, and there are times when you are The Queen.” Lena was making that sad face again, the one she made whenever Beatrice mentioned anything about her childhood etiquette lessons or when the press replayed her interviews from college. 

“I’m not certain I understand,” Beatrice started. “I’m the queen every day.” She distantly realized she was repeating her mother. She shuddered slightly at the thought. 

“Beatrice, being the queen is your _job_. It’s not who you _are_ ,” Lena said. “There are times, when you’re with certain people…” she trailed off. 

“Go on,” Beatrice urged. 

“You put on this mask. It’s like you think you have to be someone else, in order to be good at this.”

Beatrice sat in silence, staring blankly at the wall. She couldn’t fully process what Lena was saying to her. Of course she put on a mask sometimes. She couldn’t just be _Beatrice._ That isn’t what people wanted, or expected. 

“Why did you decide to be queen?” Lena broke through the silence. Beatrice looked at her, tilting her head in confusion. “I know you’re the oldest,” Lena continued. “But you could have said no, couldn’t you? But you didn’t. Why?”

Beatrice’s spine straightened. “It’s my duty.”

Lena sighed, leaning back against Beatrice’s built-in bookshelves, crossing her arms. Her sweater blended in with the green section of Beatrice’s books. “That is such a cop out,” she said. “When you hired me, you said it was because you wanted to actually do something with your time as Queen. That’s why I took the job. I believe in that Beatrice.”

“But?” Beatrice crossed her own arms, the taffeta crinkling loudly. She’d forgotten she even had the gown on. 

“I think _you_ need to learn to believe in that Beatrice,” she said. “You are so smart, and committed, and compassionate. _You_ are. That’s where your strength comes from.” She met Beatrice’s eye. “Not from the crown on your head.” 

Beatrice sagged slightly, her shoulders hunching. “That isn’t how this works, Lena. The Crown is what matters.”

“Oh, Beatrice,” Lena sighed. The two women sat in silence another moment, mirroring each other’s posture. “Have you ever…” Beatrice glanced up at her. “It might be a good idea if you talked to someone about all of this,” she said. “A professional someone,” she clarified. 

The suggestion surprised her. Lena couldn’t really think that she needed _therapy_ , could she? “I talked to one of the Palace psychologists a while ago,” Beatrice said, standing abruptly. “It didn’t help.” She went to stand back in front of the mirrors. 

“You have a plane to catch soon,” she said over her shoulder. 

Lena nodded, pushing away from the shelves. She clearly sensed the shift in Beatrice’s tone. She pulled her coat off the back of the chair, slinging it over her arm. 

She stopped, her hand on the doorknob. “Merry Christmas, Beatrice,” she said. 

Beatrice deflated. “Merry Christmas, Lena,” she said quietly. 

The door clicked closed softly behind her, leaving Beatrice alone with her reflection. 

She knew of course that she acted differently when she was performing Queen duties. But so had her father, hadn’t he? Although, now that she thought about it, her dad had changed somewhat over the years of his short reign.

She thought of the night he’d died. She’d been trying to talk to her dad, but instead she’d gotten the king. Was that who she wanted to be? _It doesn’t matter what you_ want _, Beatrice_ , she reminded herself. 

She shook her head, then pulled her hair back from her face. “Mike,” she called toward the door. “Connie can come back in.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Saturday - Christmas Day, Queen’s Ball**

“Look up for a moment please, Your Majesty,” the makeup artist asked. An eyeliner pencil was dragged along Beatrice’s lower lash line. 

She felt like she’d gone back in time. How often had she stood in this same spot, looking at the thousands of Beatrices in the mirror, being poked and prodded during an outfit change? 

She was in the periwinkle gown now. Beatrice glared at her reflection. She was annoyed at her mother, but even more annoyed at herself for not saying anything about it. Why had it been so easy to stick up for Sam, but not for herself? 

Jackie, the makeup artist, finished blending her eyeliner. “Blot your lipstick, please.” She handed Beatrice a tissue. Grandmama had taught Beatrice the trick to preventing lipstick on her teeth when she was a teenager. She stuck her index finger in her mouth, pulling it back out through her lips. Wiping her finger on the tissue, she turned to smile at Jackie. 

“Good?”

Jackie inspected her teeth, then nodded. “All good, Your Majesty.” 

“Thanks, Jackie,” Beatrice said as the makeup artist packed up her kit. 

Jackie smiled. “Of course. It’s always a pleasure, Your Majesty. Merry Christmas.” She bobbed a curtsy, then rolled her train case out of the room. Beatrice wouldn’t need her again tonight. 

She adjusted the sash around her shoulder, the medals clinking slightly. She’d always found the honors a little odd, if she was being honest. She hadn’t actually done anything to _earn_ them, other than exist. 

A knock on the door broke her from her reverie. She glanced up, expecting Mike, only to see Teddy’s blond head instead. 

“Did you need something?” she asked. 

He chuckled. “No, Bee. I just haven’t gotten a moment alone with you.”

“Oh,” Beatrice said. “Okay.” She lifted her tiara off the side table. “You know how the Queen’s Ball is.”

He nodded, stepping closer to her. “I know. Do you need help with that?” he asked as she lifted the crown up to her head. 

She quickly yanked her head away from his hands. “Sorry,” she said, noting his confused look. “I’ve got it.” 

He shook his head. “I guess I should know better than to get between the queen and her tiara,” he said, smiling softly. 

“It’s a little ridiculous,” Beatrice said, using her teeth to separate a bobby pin. 

Lena’s words had been rattling around in her head since last night. She’d hardly slept, her mind had been too busy replaying the last two years of her life. Was Lena right? It was hard to even consider the concept. It would require Beatrice to completely rethink everything she’d ever been taught about her role as the queen. 

“You know what today is?” Teddy broke her from her reverie. 

Beatrice’s brow furrowed. “Christmas?” she guessed after a moment. 

“It’s the anniversary of the day we met,” Teddy smiled at her in the mirror. 

Beatrice jolted slightly. She’d never even thought about an anniversary with Teddy. That time in her life was so jumbled in her mind, punctuated more with the losses she’d suffered than anything else. Beatrice spent most of the time between the holidays and her birthday in February in a kind of daze, trying even harder than usual to not think about her father. Or of anything else that had happened two years ago, for that matter. 

“Oh,” she said, hoping her smile seemed genuine. Beatrice may not be in the best headspace at the moment, but that wasn’t Teddy’s fault. It was sweet that he’d remember the day fondly, even if she didn’t. A trumpet sounded from outside, likely signaling her mother’s return to the ballroom.

“I’ll see you back out there?” he asked. Beatrice nodded. Teddy kissed her temple before walking out the door. 

Beatrice clipped her ceremonial cloak over her gown. At least the royal blue velvet covered up the taffeta, even if it did make her feel a little bit like she was being strangled. She glared at herself in the mirror some more, just for good measure.

This time the knock was Mike. 

“How you doing, kid?” he asked. 

Beatrice shrugged. She was pretty sure Mike had eavesdropped on her and Lena last night, but he hadn’t broached the topic yet. Part of her wanted him to stay quiet, but a larger part of her hoped he’d force it out of her. 

“The knighting is kind of fun,” she said. “At least compared to the rest of it.”

“Not to sound like a broken record, but as far as I know, it’s not against the law for you to just leave when you’re bored,” Mike said, his hand resting on the hilt of the ceremonial sword at his hip. 

She snorted. “We’d never finish a Cabinet meeting if I just left things when I was bored.”

“Aren’t those constitutionally required?” 

Beatrice leaned her head back, remembering she had the tiara on just in time. “God, I really am tired if you’re remembering the Constitution better than me,” she groaned. 

“Well, hurry up then. Let’s get this over with so you can sleep and I can get out of the dress uniform.”

Beatrice snorted again as she led the way out the door. “You can’t fool me, Mike. You like the sword.” She smiled at Petey and Colin, who stood on either side of the door. 

Her spine straightened, and she lifted her head as a footman announced her re-arrival into the ballroom. 

Beatrice hadn’t been lying to Mike about the ceremony. She did enjoy it to an extent. This year’s honorees were even more eclectic, given Samantha’s input, and Beatrice found it easy to return their smiles. 

The flashbulbs of the cameras from the royal rota went off like clockwork as she pinned the medal indicating knighthood onto Ms. Molly Patterson, who had been a public school teacher for over forty years. One of Sam’s picks, but Beatrice had found herself getting oddly emotional reading the testimonials from Ms. Patterson’s students. Beatrice didn’t hold particularly fond memories for any of her own teachers.

Beatrice’s vision went a little blurry, bright bursts of color appearing behind her eyelids as she blinked slowly. She refocused on Ms. Patterson’s face, her kind eyes grounding Beatrice somewhat. The stress and lack of sleep had had Beatrice fighting off a migraine for a couple of days now, and her stomach had been too unsettled to eat anything substantial. It was probably just catching up with her.

The rest of the knighting went off without a hitch. Beatrice looped an arm through her sister’s as Sam unhooked the microphone from the edge of her sash. 

“You’re way better at reading the names than I ever was,” she said. 

Sam snorted. “You were twelve when you got stuck with that duty, Bee. Don’t be too hard on yourself.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, pumpkin patch,” Marshall said as he joined them. “It’s a very difficult job, reading a list of names.” He kissed Sam on the cheek, being careful to avoid poking himself in the eye on her tiara. She had complained loudly to Beatrice that tiaras were too heavy, but Adelaide had insisted that, as the heir presumptive, Samantha would be expected to wear one at the Queen’s Ball. 

“You did good too, Busy,” he added as an afterthought. “You didn’t accidentally chop anyone’s head off with the sword.”

Beatrice suppressed the urge to stick her tongue out at him. Photographers were still stationed around the room. “It’s blunted, you dork.”

“We don’t give Bee sharp objects,” Sam said conspiratorially to her boyfriend. “Not after the incident with the skates.”

“What incident with the skates?” Teddy asked, settling his hand on Beatrice’s lower back as he came up behind her. Sam huffed.

“It was really more Jeff’s fault than mine,” Beatrice argued with her sister. “Turns out that hockey skates are _very_ sharp when the blades have just been sharpened. Who knew?” she said to Teddy.

His head tilted. “Hockey skates? When would you have been around hockey skates?” he asked.

“Oh, good lord,” Sam said, grabbing Marshall’s arm and dragging him away into the crowd. 

“Did I say something wrong?” Teddy asked, his brow furrowed in Sam’s direction.

Beatrice shook her head, which was hindered by the weight of the tiara. “No,” she told him. “Jeff and I skated a lot when we were kids,” she explained.

“You did?” Teddy looked down at her, his eyebrows raising. “I didn’t know that.”

Beatrice laughed softly. “Mom kept it under wraps. She said ice skating was too Canadian,” she said, remembering. “Jeff would have made a run for the NHL if we’d let him.”

Teddy smiled. “So you’d come to a Bruins game with me?”

“As long as you didn’t expect me to _root_ for the Bruins, sure,” Beatrice said. 

Teddy sighed. “This again.” 

She and Teddy had come the closest they’d ever come to getting into an actual argument when she’d told him that it would be a cold day in hell when she’d support the Patriots in the Super Bowl. He had argued that since she didn’t have any connection to the Seahawks, last year’s opponent, she should root for her boyfriend’s hometown team. Beatrice had replied that she’d rather eat glass.

“You went to school in Boston, you know,” he said, trying to convince her again. 

She patted his cheek. She heard a click of a camera and suppressed an eye roll. “I went to school in _Cambridge_. Besides, I can hear my ancestors rolling in their graves at the mere suggestion that I support a team from New England.”

Teddy looked like he might try and argue further, but was interrupted by a hand clapping him on the shoulder. “Teddy, my boy!” Teddy’s father, the Duke of Boston, said. “Your Majesty,” he bowed toward Beatrice. Beatrice again resisted the urge to react. Protocol indicated that she be greeted first, which she normally wouldn’t care about, except that she knew for a fact that the Duke wouldn’t have acknowledged her father second.

“Maxwell Carnegie is eager to speak to the two of you,” Teddy’s father said.

“I bet he is,” Beatrice mumbled, too low for anyone to hear. Maxwell Carnegie owned the second largest car company in the country. Beatrice knew he had already been angling Congress members to vote yes if Dalton’s pipeline came before them. 

Even though she’d already had two glasses during the cocktail hour, Beatrice snatched a flute of champagne off a passing tray. “Thanks, Jordyn,” she said to the kitchen staff member who carried it.

“Your Majesty,” Jordyn smiled before turning to another group. Margaret Eaton, who had come up to stand next to her husband, gave Beatrice an odd look.

“Margaret,” Beatrice acknowledged her, before taking a long swig of champagne. It was petty of her, she knew, but it filled Beatrice with a sense of glee whenever she got to make clear to the Duke and Duchess that she outranked them. Even if it was just to call them by their first names. She didn’t even know why the Eatons rankled her so. They’d always been perfectly nice to her. Although, she could have sworn that the pleasantries had seemed tinged with an undercurrent of _something_ ever since Beatrice had called the wedding off. 

“Maxwell!” Thomas Eaton called a man over to them. Beatrice had met Max Carnegie before. He was in his forties, and Beatrice noted that his hairline definitely had more definition to it than the last time she’d seen him. 

“This is my –”

Teddy cut his father off. “Her Majesty the Queen,” he said, gesturing to Beatrice. Carnegie swept into a bow. 

Beatrice gave Teddy a small smile. He had been around her long enough to know that she typically introduced herself, but his father had been about to commit an even more serious breach of protocol than he had earlier. Beatrice could forgive the Duke greeting his son first, but _introducing_ Teddy first in this situation was a huge misstep. 

“Mr. Carnegie,” Beatrice said, extending her hand. Carnegie shook it as though she’d held a dead fish out to him. She drained her champagne in one swallow. This was going to be a long night.

She’d eventually managed to wrangle her way out of any discussion about the pipeline by pretending to spot the French ambassador, quickly ducking around the Marquess of Nashville and away from the group. 

She grabbed another flute of champagne off a tray, draining it in several long sips. Beatrice felt eyes on her, and turned to see Mike raise an eyebrow. She glared at him in return.

An arm went around her waist, a diamond bracelet snagging on her gown. 

“Would you hate me if we dipped out early?” Sam asked, leaning in close to her ear. Marshall stood a little ways away, near one set of doors, clearly poised for a quick getaway.

Beatrice smiled at her sister. “Of course not, Sammie. Go have fun. Save yourselves.”

“Are you sure?” Sam searched her face. “We can stay -”

Beatrice cut her off. “Go!” she urged. “Seriously, I’m all good.”

She caught Marshall’s eye over Sam’s head. He winked, stepping closer to the doors. He’d let Beatrice in on his Christmas surprise for Sam. Her sister had always loved the displays on the homes along the river, and with the Queen’s Ball going on, no one would suspect that the princess would be among the dozens of sightseers that strolled along the streets. 

She shoved Samantha toward the doors. “Quick, before Mom smells trouble.”

Sam kissed her on the cheek. “Love you, Bee.”

“Love you too,” Beatrice replied, waving to Marshall as he towed his girlfriend out the side door, Caleb following quickly behind.

Beatrice was only alone for another moment, when she was greeted by the actual French ambassador. 

“Your Majesty!” Marie greeted her with a kiss on each cheek. “Vous les Américains savez comment organiser une fête.”

Beatrice laughed. “Tout était ma mère,” she told her. Adelaide was the party planner in chief. _These balls are stupid anyway_. Beatrice shook her head at that bitter thought. _What is with me tonight?_

“À propos des réfugiés,” Marie started. “Quel est votre plan si l'Italie n'est pas d'accord?” 

Finally, something Beatrice had some interest in talking about. She began telling Marie about the ideas that she and her staff had been kicking around regarding the refugee situation in the Mediterranean, and the Italian government’s reluctance to allow resettlement within their borders. She got it out of Marie that the French were willing to work with the Americans, but wouldn’t do so without further agreement between the other nations. 

Beatrice caught a glare from her mother. She’d been talking to Marie for some time, and Adelaide had reminded her multiple times throughout the week that she wasn’t supposed to talk politics at the Ball. She had wanted to ask her mom what exactly the reason for gathering nobility in one room was _for_ , if not politics, but she’d refrained.

“Il y a Madame Patterson,” Beatrice said, gesturing toward Molly. “Je devrais dire bonjour.”

Beatrice made a beeline for Molly Patterson, who was standing with her husband, watching the couples who had begun dancing. 

“Ms. Patterson,” she greeted the older woman. “I haven’t properly introduced myself.” She held her hand out. “I’m Beatrice.”

“Your Majesty!” Ms. Patterson simultaneously curtsied and returned Beatrice’s handshake. “This is my husband, Peter,” she said, gesturing. Ms. Patterson wore a dusty pink gown, with a matching bolero jacket over her shoulders. Beatrice smiled at Peter’s matching pocket square.

“Very nice to meet you both,” Beatrice said. “I was honored that you accepted the invitation.”

Ms. Patterson’s eyes went wide. “I thought it was a joke at first!” she exclaimed. “Imagine, me, being knighted.”

Beatrice smiled. “Well, why not you? Forty years of service as a history teacher is nothing to sneeze at, Ms. Patterson.”

Peter beamed at his wife, wrapping his arm around her. “What did I tell you?”

“Oh, hush, you,” Molly said to her husband. “I’m nothing special.”

Peter looked absolutely appalled at his wife’s statement. 

“How long have you two been married?” Beatrice asked, unable to contain her smile at the couple.

“Coming up on 38 years now,” Molly said, patting her husband’s chest. “We met when Peter first started at the post office.”

Beatrice perked up. “You worked for the Postal Service?” she asked.

“Retired just last year, Your Majesty,” Peter said, standing up a little straighter.

“My friend’s father is a postal clerk!” Beatrice surprised herself with her enthusiasm at the tiny connection. She so often felt like a fish out of water in these situations. Her parents had kept her sheltered from much of the world outside of the Palace. 

Beatrice remembered something from a briefing several weeks ago. “Wait, the House is trying to push through a bill about postal worker pensions,” she said. “Requiring the Postal Service to pay in advance?”

Peter shook his head. “Awful idea. We run at a surplus now, with no taxpayer funding. Requiring the funding of pensions seventy-five years in advance? No other company has to do that.” His eyes widened a fraction. “I hope I’m not speaking out of turn, Your Majesty.”

Beatrice briefly squeezed his forearm. “No, please, Mr. Patterson. You’re who we need to be hearing from,” she assured him. “My knowledge of the Postal Service largely ends with the reorganization in 1971, unfortunately.”

“You know your history,” Molly smiled.

Beatrice winked. “Yes, ma’am. Now, Peter, what can you tell me about these delivery trucks that keep catching fire?”

Peter launched into an explanation of the lack of upgrades since the 1980s, before Molly recounted the school lunch program’s struggle to keep up with demand. Beatrice lost track of how long she’d been talking to the Pattersons, which was made abundantly clear by a sudden vice grip on her elbow. 

“Beatrice,” Queen Adelaide said with a tight smile. “You haven’t danced with Lord Eaton,” she said in her daughter’s ear.

Beatrice suppressed an eye roll. “I was just talking to the Pattersons about the need for an upgrade to the postal infrastructure.” She gave the couple what she hoped was a reassuring smile. “Although I’m sure they would rather be enjoying their evening than talking shop with me.”

Molly seemed to sense the tension between Beatrice and her mother. “I think it’s time to see if you remember how to waltz,” she said to Peter. 

“It was lovely talking to you both,” Beatrice said. 

The Pattersons bid the two queens farewell before heading toward the dance floor. 

Beatrice watched them turn around the floor once before wheeling back on her mother. 

“That was rude, Mom,” she said with a venom that surprised her. 

Adelaide leveled her with a cold stare. “What is rude is you breaking protocol,” she said. “The monarch opens the dancing.”

“No one _cares_ , Mom,” Beatrice murmured under her breath. “I’ll go dance with Teddy,” she said to her mother, trying to avoid further confrontation. 

Adelaide held fast to her elbow. “Where did your sister go?” She arched an eyebrow. 

Beatrice shrugged. “She was complaining of a headache earlier. Maybe she stepped out to get some air.” Lying was one thing Beatrice hadn’t found difficult lately. 

She spotted Teddy across the room and stepped out of her mother’s grasp. 

He smiled as she approached. “We need to dance,” she said, grabbing his hand. 

“Need to?” he asked as he put a hand at her waist, pulling her further onto the dance floor. 

Beatrice let out a very non-regal grunt. “I’ve deeply offended the sensibilities of a two-hundred-year-old institution by not dancing at a certain time, apparently.” 

Teddy chuckled as he led her further onto the floor. The chamber orchestra was playing something that Beatrice couldn’t quite pinpoint, although it sounded vaguely Christmas-y. “You’re feisty tonight.” 

“Sorry,” she sighed. “I’m in a weird mood.”

He twirled her around, which didn’t do great things for the headache that had returned with a vengeance with her mother’s appearance. 

“Carnegie was hoping to meet with you sometime before you went to Telluride,” Teddy said after a moment. “My father told him you’d be happy to.” 

Beatrice looked at him for a moment, trying to figure out exactly what he’d just said. “Sorry, your father what?” 

“Told Carnegie you’d be happy to meet with him.” 

She cocked her head to the side, feeling the tiara slide off-kilter. “Last I checked your father wasn’t a member of my staff,” she said. “So I’m just a little confused as to why he’s scheduling appointments for me.”

Her tone must have been colder than she thought. Teddy’s brow furrowed, his hand at her waist pulling her closer. 

“He didn’t mean anything by it, Bee,” he said quietly. 

She stared back at him. “Yes, I’m sure the Duke of Boston wasn’t trying to interfere with Palace policy,” she said slowly. “Especially since, given your family’s investments in Carnegie’s company, that would be a violation of federal lobbying laws.” 

Teddy stepped back then. “Beatrice —”

She held up a hand. “This isn’t the place to talk about this.” She stepped out of his arms completely. “I need some air, I’ll be back,” she told him, making it clear that she didn’t want company. 

Beatrice’s head was pounding at this point. She made her way through the crowd, knowing Mike would track her out of the room. She started to head for a side door, but stopped short as she saw her mother’s tiara-ed head. Thinking quickly, she ducked out a swinging door and into the hallway that led down to the kitchens. 

Skirting around several staff members, Beatrice searched for a quiet spot to hide. She grabbed a bottle of champagne out of a large bucket of ice on her way toward the walk-in pantries. Food service had long since ended, and she wouldn’t be in anyone’s way back there. 

She closed the door behind her, leaning back against it. Beatrice hastily tore the gold paper off the neck of the bottle, twisting the top off. The cork made a satisfying pop as she pulled it out, condensation dripping onto her gown. 

Beatrice distantly knew that the queen shouldn’t be taking pulls of champagne directly from the bottle while hiding in a pantry, but she couldn’t muster up enough emotion to really care. 

She’d been on edge all day, which hadn’t been helped by her mother, and certainly hadn’t been helped by her boyfriend’s father. The pounding in her head continued as she took in her surroundings, stepping further into the room. She seemed to have chosen a pantry designated for dish storage. Stacks of plates and bowls and cutlery were laid out on a low table, with more lining the wall of shelves. She recognized the china from earlier that evening, cream with a simple ring of forest green around its edges. This must be where the kitchen staff stored the table settings for the current service. 

Beatrice’s foot collided with a box on the floor as she turned. It skidded into a shelf, rattling loudly. 

Sighing, Beatrice knelt down to check for damage. Lifting away the lid, she pulled off the top layer of tissue paper. Her brows instantly drew together. This couldn’t be right. She lifted a small salad plate out of the box. White, with a blue toile pattern. 

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears. Her hands shook as she inspected the dish more closely. It was definitely her wedding china. For the wedding she had called off. The china that she had specifically requested be donated. She remembered the conversation with the wedding planner. She’d explained that whenever she and Teddy did get married, she wanted it to be a fresh start. So why was this still here? 

The pantry door opened. “Oh! I’m so sorry, Your Majesty,” Amanda said, curtsying quickly. “I didn’t realize you were in here.” 

Beatrice stood, her grip on the champagne bottle tightening. Her head spun, her chest tightened. She held the plate out to Amanda. 

“Do you know why this is here?” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i couldn't find if teddy's parents ever get names, so let me know if i was wrong about that haha. beatrice's dress is based off a real (terrible) alexander mcqueen gown that kate middleton wore to a state dinner in 2018, if anyone is interested. 
> 
> i had a revelation about why majesty bothered me so much after reading a twitter thread by racheline maltese. in response to a galaxy-brained tweet saying that HEAs are slut-shaming, racheline explained that romance novels (which i'd argue american royals is, since the relationships are the main plot, it's just a YA version) fall into two categories: liberation (protagonists bend the world to find their joy) and compliance (protagonists bend themselves to find their joy). both kinds of stories are valid ofc, but breaking it down like that made me go 'ohhh that's why i was so mad about this book.' so much potential from the first book, only to have the characters all just do exactly what they're told to do in the second. not my cup of tea, if you couldn't tell by the direction of this story lol.
> 
> anyway, hope all of my fellow of-age americans have voted! i've been very happy to spend time in a world where the presidential election isn't a thing that happens. thanks for reading!!!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: blood and descriptions of minor injuries

_the water filled my lungs_

_I screamed so loud but no one heard a thing_

_rain came pouring down_

_when I was drowning_

_that’s when I could finally breathe_

_clean – taylor swift_

Marshall pulled Sam quickly through the side door, heading straight toward the stairs. 

“Where’s the fire?” Sam laughed as her boyfriend practically loped toward her suite. She reached down to grab at her skirt, pulling the hem out of the way of her heeled feet.

“We’re on a schedule, pudding,” he said as he opened her door. “Go change. Warm clothes.” He pointed toward her closet. 

Sam mock-saluted. “Sir, yes, sir.” Marshall rolled his eyes and pushed her toward her closet again. 

“Jeans okay?” she called out the door as she shed her tiara and other jewelry. 

She heard him fumble around for a moment before answering. “It’s supposed to get down to twenty-five degrees later, but jeans are fine if you bundle up.”

Sam poked her head out the door. “So we’re going to be outside?” Marshall had refused to tell her where they were going.

He ignored her, pointing back into her closet. She laughed and ducked back inside. She pulled on a pair of fleece leggings before grabbing her jeans. After donning a long-sleeved shirt, cashmere sweater, and grabbing her heavier wool coat, she started searching for her rubber-soled boots. 

“Under the couch,” Marshall said, appearing in the closet doorway. He was similarly attired, Sam taking a moment to appreciate the way the red cable-knit sweater hugged his pecs.

“Nice sweater,” she smiled.

He leaned down to kiss her cheek. “Thanks. Some girl gave it to me.” Sam shoved at his shoulder. She’d given it to him for Christmas last year. 

“‘Some girl,’ huh?” she said, raising an eyebrow.

Marshall nodded, looking thoughtful. “Maybe you know her. Dark brown hair, bit of a handful?” He kissed below her ear.

Samantha hummed. “Doesn’t sound familiar,” she said.

“Really?” Marshall asked, his lips traveling down her neck. “Smart as hell. Gorgeous eyes. Doesn’t take shit from anyone.” He punctuated each of these statements with a kiss. 

“Quite the girl,” Sam sighed, trying to nudge his head up.

Marshall smiled, his lips a whisper from her own. “She is,” he said. Sam started to lean in, when she felt a wool beanie being pulled down over her ears. “Stop distracting me, ginger snap,” Marshall said. His pet names had been holiday-themed recently. “We have places to be!”

She groaned as he stepped away to pull on his snow boots. “Tease,” she glared at him. He responded by tossing her gloves at her.

Once they were sufficiently bundled up, the two of them, followed by Caleb, made their way quickly to the back carport. There were photographers stationed at the front entrance still, waiting to snap shots of partygoers as they left the ball.

“Will you tell me where we’re going now?” Sam asked as she got into the passenger seat. 

“Nope!” Marshall smiled, adjusting the driver’s seat to accommodate his height. They were taking one of the Palace cars, a nondescript black mid-size SUV.

Sam turned to Caleb in the backseat. “No can do, Your Royal Highness,” he said before she could ask. “I don’t ruin Christmas surprises.”

“Caleb!” Sam exclaimed. “Who knew you were such a sap,” she laughed. Her Guard just maintained his usual stony expression.

The Palace grew smaller in the mirror as they drove into the city. Samantha stared out the car window. She’d always loved Washington at Christmas. The city strung lights around the trees that lined the streets, and shop windows were full of holly and bows and sleigh bells. 

Beatrice had let Sam flip the switch to light the national tree this year. Beatrice had always liked the holiday too, but Sam got the sense that her sister wasn’t feeling particularly festive this year. The tree stood ahead, in the center of National Square. Thousands of lights twinkled among yards of tinsel and bauble ornaments, some as big as Sam’s head, on the thirty foot tree. 

They were headed east, Sam was pretty sure. It took her several miles to piece it together.

“The Christmas market!” she shouted, grabbing Marshall’s bicep. “It’s okay?” she turned to Caleb again.

He nodded. “I’ve got back-up,” was all he said by way of explanation.

Marshall smiled, pulling the car along one of the streets parallel to Fort Hunt, the neighborhood where the annual Christmas market took place. The homes along the street hugging the river decorated with elaborate displays every year, and on Christmas night the area transformed into a holiday market, booths selling trinkets and cookies and hot chocolate and mulled wine. Samantha had always wanted to go, but her parents had always said it was out of the question, with the Queen’s Ball occurring the same night.

Marshall found a parking spot on a side street, pulling his own cap on. He reached across Sam, opening the glove box. 

“Here, put these on.” He handed her a pair of tortoiseshell glasses. 

Sam cocked her head. “I don’t wear glasses,” she said.

“I’m aware of that,” he smiled. “And so is everyone else.” Then Sam understood. Grinning, she put the glasses on her face, flipping the visor down to look into the small mirror. 

“These make me look very serious.”

“See? Perfect disguise,” Marshall quipped. Sam smacked him on the arm. “Come on, candy cane. Show me how the east coast does Christmas.” 

They wandered down the street, passing unnoticed by the other market-goers. Since it hadn’t actually snowed in Washington yet, several of the stalls had put out snow machines, flakes drifting down the road. Two children, a boy and a girl, darted around the couple, chasing each other with handfuls of whatever it is that fake snow is made of.

Marshall pulled Sam over to a stall, buying them peppermint hot chocolates. Sam smiled as Marshall ordered three without asking, wordlessly handing one to Caleb, who stood several paces behind them. Caleb nodded in thanks.

“So,” Marshall said, throwing an arm around her shoulders as they walked. “Worth missing the rest of the ball?”

Sam laughed, wrapping her arm around his waist. “A root canal would be worth missing the ball.” She took a sip of her warm drink, leaning her head against Marshall’s side. “This is perfect.” Marshall kissed the top of her head, pulling her closer.

They’d stopped to look at a display of hand-carved nutcrackers. Sam let out a gasp, reaching out to grab one. 

“I have to get this for Bee,” she said, clicking the nutcracker’s jaw open and closed. It was clearly supposed to be her sister, with dark painted hair and its carved gown the same cream as the queen’s coronation gown. A tiny crown perched on its head. Beatrice had seemed down earlier. Sam hoped that the sight of her likeness as a nutcracker would make her smile.

“That’s the last one,” the shop owner said. “Her Majesty has been very popular.” 

Sam laughed. Her sister would definitely get a kick out of _that_. “I’ll take it.”

As the owner wrapped Sam’s nutcracker sister, Marshall pulled his phone out of his pocket. Checking the screen, he looked up and around over Sam’s head.

“What? Your other date show up too early?” Sam nudged him.

He snorted, putting his phone back in his pocket. “Don’t be ridiculous. I plan better than that.” Sam stuck her tongue out at him.

“Careful,” he laughed. “Your face will freeze that way.” He looked over Sam’s head again, a small grin appearing on his face. “The rest of your surprise is here.”

Sam’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean the rest of my —” A warm body collided with her back, arms coming around her. 

“Merry Christmas!” Nina said in her ear. Sam shrieked, spinning to throw her arms around her best friend. They hadn’t seen each other in almost two months. Sam was gone on heir duties until after Thanksgiving and Nina had had a monstrous finals week this semester, before leaving to go visit her sick grandfather. Sam felt Marshall grab her hot chocolate from her before she doused them both with it. 

“How’s your abuelo?” Sam asked, leaning away from Nina.

“He’s good! He’s back home, Tía Renata is staying with him,” Nina replied. “Some dress you had on tonight,” she smiled at Sam.

“Wasn’t it?” Marshall agreed, taking a sip of his drink. 

Sam giggled. Beatrice had been right about Marshall’s reaction to her gown. He’d gone a little slack-jawed when she’d emerged with it on, and hadn’t been able to formulate words for several moments. Her mother had huffed again, but Beatrice had finally pulled rank on her. Now if Sam could just get her sister to defend _herself_ too.

Marshall took the wrapped nutcracker from the shopkeeper, leading them away from the booth.

“How was Chicago?” Nina asked as they walked along. Sam filled her in on her latest travels and events while they hunted down hot apple cider. 

“Any progress on the summer job front?” Sam asked as they tucked into the cinnamon rolls they’d acquired. 

Nina sighed. “I’ve sent in the applications, but all of the big organizations are so cutthroat, I doubt I’ll even get an interview.”

“Oh, please.” Sam jostled her with an elbow. “You’re great! They’ll probably all fight over you.”

“It’s not great having a resume that includes me being fired from the student newspaper,” Nina grumbled, stabbing her fork into the doughy pastry.

“That was bullshit though,” Marshall said from Sam’s other side. “If anything they should _want_ to hire you for not being a total weasel.” They’d filled Marshall in on Nina’s struggles resulting from not contributing to further gossip about the queen. He’d been just as indignant as Beatrice and Sam. “Besides, who Busy is dating isn’t even an interesting story.”

Sam nodded. “Exactly! You have integrity!”

Nina looped her arm through Sam’s. “You two are good friends, but we all know integrity only gets you so far sometimes. Beatrice’s love life might not actually be that exciting, but it sells papers.”

“Why I don’t know, with that boring boyfriend of hers,” Marshall mumbled.

Sam whirled on him. “Ah-hah!” she cried. “I _knew_ you didn’t like Teddy either! You always say to stay out of it!” She pointed at him with a bit of cinnamon roll.

“You _should_ stay out of it, muffin,” he said, taking a bite of the roll from Sam’s fingers. “Your sister will figure it out soon enough, and in the meantime we can all talk about the fact that her boyfriend has no personality behind his back.”

Nina laughed. “Marshall’s right, Sam. Your sister has enough to deal with without you meddling.”

“But sometimes Bee _needs_ meddling,” she argued. _She’d have gone through with the wedding if I hadn’t sent that invitation._ Nina arched an eyebrow. “Fine,” Sam groaned. “I’ll stay out of it.”

“There was a time you didn’t think he was so boring yourself,” Marshall poked her in the ribs. 

“Ugh, please don’t remind me,” Sam said. “I was young and dumb and trying to piss off my parents. A futile endeavor, since I don’t think they even knew anything about it.” She’d done a lot of thinking about her past feelings for Teddy, and had realized that a big part of them was that she wasn’t _supposed_ to like him. Truth be told, if Teddy hadn’t proceeded to date her sister, she’d have probably forgotten all about that first makeout session in the closet. He’d have been just another blip on her long list of escapades.

Marshall ran a comforting hand up her back. “And all you got for your efforts was me,” he said, kissing the top of her head again. This was true. Sam wouldn’t have found Marshall if she hadn’t been trying to make Teddy jealous.

Sam looped an arm around her boyfriend and her best friend. “I think it definitely worked out for the best.”

The three of them, trailed by Caleb, spent the next couple hours wandering the streets of Fort Hunt. It had been a long time since Sam had felt this happy. 

As the fireworks from the Palace sounded in the distance, Sam found herself missing her brother and sister, wishing they could be there with her. 

If she was being honest, she’d been worried about her siblings lately. Despite she and Jeff being twins, it was actually Beatrice and Jeff who were more similar in personality. Or at least more similar in coping mechanisms. Her brother and sister both had a tendency to retreat into themselves, although it manifested in different ways. Jeff surrounded himself with strangers, Bee surrounded herself with work. Sam didn’t think either of her siblings had gotten a full night’s sleep in the last two years. 

“I hate to say it,” Marshall broke through her musings. “But we should probably head out before that snow starts.” He craned his neck toward the sky, which had turned a menacing dark gray. 

Nina laughed. “We can’t have a guy from Orange driving in the snow, that’s for sure.”

“Hey! I’m an excellent driver!” 

“Come on, you two,” Sam said. “We both know _I’m_ the best driver out of us.” Nina and Marshall burst into laughter. 

They dropped Nina at home, her moms waving from the front door as the first flakes started to fall. The Palace was much quieter as they drove up, the ball having winded down. Staff would be up for a while still, but Sam was sure most of the attendees were gone at this point. 

“I’m going to go give Bee her present,” Sam told Marshall as they walked up the stairs. “I need to apologize again for ditching her.”

Marshall chuckled. “She was in on it, Sam. Don’t feel guilty.” 

“Still,” she said, going up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “I’ll see you in a bit.”

Sam headed toward her sister’s suite. As she neared the door, she realized something was off. Two Guards were outside, as usual, but the picture wasn’t quite right. Jake wasn’t on duty tonight, but he stood at attention outside the queen’s door with Colin. And why wasn’t Jake in uniform? He had on a gray sweatshirt and navy sweatpants tucked into his Guard-issue boots, looking as though he’d just rolled out of bed.

“Your Royal Highness,” Colin greeted her. 

“Is my sister in her room?”

“She is, Your Royal Highness. One moment, please.” Colin disappeared into the suite. 

“What’s going on?” Sam asked Jake. She’d never needed _permission_ to enter Beatrice’s room before. 

Jake shook his head slightly. “Her Majesty…” he trailed off, seeming to search for the right words. “I’m sure she’ll want to see you, Your Royal Highness. She can explain.” 

That didn’t ease Sam’s worries. Colin returned, motioning for Sam to come inside. He returned to his post outside the front door. 

Beatrice’s sitting room looked normal, although her heels from earlier tonight had been tossed too haphazardly for it to have been her who’d put them there. Sam bent down to pet Franklin’s head as he greeted her.

“Bee?” she called out. 

“In here,” a female voice answered from the bathroom. Why was Gina here? Sam was surprised to find Petey standing outside the bathroom door. 

“Okay, seriously, Bee. Why do you need your whole Guard team in your suite in the middle of the night?” 

She stopped at the sight of her sister, her hand flying to her mouth. 

Beatrice was sitting on the edge of her claw foot tub, still in her gown. Her tiara sat on a towel on the counter. Whoever had taken it off of her head hadn’t done a careful job. There were still a few errant bobby pins hanging in her hair. She seemed to have cried her makeup off, her face pale and raw. What had shocked Sam though was the blood. 

“She’s okay,” Mike said. He was kneeling on the floor in front of Beatrice, a pair of tweezers in one hand. Gina, who was also out of uniform, her brown hair in a sloppy bun at the nape of her neck, was holding a bowl out to him, where Mike was depositing what looked to be shards of glass. Or not glass, Sam thought as she looked closer. Porcelain maybe? White, with occasional bits of blue, although the pieces were too small to discern a pattern.

Beatrice sucked in a breath as Mike dug another piece out of her hand. She appeared to have sliced her hands open, cuts of varying length and depth across both appendages. A long cut ran along the back of her left forearm near her elbow. That one at least didn’t look deep. It had already stopped bleeding.

Sam stepped around Mike, going to sit on the tub next to her sister. 

“Bee, what happened?” Sam put a hand on her back, rubbing up and down. Had her sister's spine always been so pronounced? 

Beatrice let out another shaky breath. “I didn’t have the best night,” she said quietly. Mike shot her an exasperated look, then went back to examining a particularly deep gash in the queen’s right palm. Sam noticed that there was blood darkening the front of his dress uniform.

“Okay…” Sam said, still not understanding. 

“I got drunk,” Beatrice started again. Sam’s eyes widened. She didn’t think she’d ever seen her sister even slightly buzzed. “I guess it triggered another panic attack.”

Sam’s hand stopped on Beatrice’s back. “What do you mean _another_ panic attack? You’ve had them before?” 

Beatrice nodded. “At the hospital.” Sam cursed under her breath. “And I still have nightmares. I screamed so loud a few weeks ago that Petey and Jake drew their weapons,” Beatrice admitted quietly. 

“Oh, Bee.” Sam set the wrapped nutcracker on the floor, reaching her hands up to pull the remaining pins from Beatrice’s hair. Her dark brown waves fell down her shoulders. They sat quietly for several moments, Sam running her hands gently through her sister’s hair while her Guard continued to administer first aid. 

“What did you do to your hands?” Sam asked after a moment. Mike had taken hold of one of Beatrice’s wrists, turning her arm to inspect for further damage. 

Beatrice took a shaky breath. “I was mad at Mom and mad at Teddy. And mad at myself for being mad. I just needed a minute,” she hissed as Mike began dabbing antiseptic on her broken skin. “I was hiding in one of the pantries. I found a box of china. My wedding china.” She spoke in halting sentences, as though she was having difficulty piecing her night together herself. 

“I thought you asked for that to be donated?” Sam said, continuing to stroke through her sister’s hair, gently working out knots. 

Beatrice nodded. “I did. Amanda walked in and I asked her why it was in there. She said they’d accidentally brought up a box from the basement with the settings for tonight.” She blew out a breath. “Apparently Mom told the staff to put it all in storage instead. Because I would ‘come to my senses eventually.’” She was clearly quoting that last bit, although Sam wasn’t sure who had relayed it to her.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, Beatrice staring at her hands as Mike wrapped them in gauze. 

“I don’t even know what happened,” she said finally. “I couldn’t _breathe_. I don’t know why.” She sniffled softly. “The next thing I knew I was in here,” she nodded around the bathroom. 

Sam made eye contact with Mike. He nodded slightly. Beatrice must have been in quite a state. 

“I need to talk to the team about adjusting the schedule. Your Royal Highness, could you get your sister some clothes to change into?” Mike asked Sam. “Gina, stay with Her Majesty for a moment.” 

Sam led the way out of the bathroom, turning toward her sister’s closet. Mike followed. 

“She smashed up her wedding china, I take it?” Sam asked him. 

Mike nodded. “I lost track of her for a moment,” he let out a guilty sigh. “When I got to her, she’d thrown it all against the wall and floor already. She was picking up the shards, breaking it into smaller pieces.” He looked back toward the bathroom door. “That’s how she cut herself so badly. China is sharp.” 

Sam felt her blood run cold. “Do you think she was trying to hurt herself?” 

Mike was silent for a moment. “No,” he said finally, running a hand down his face. “I don’t. We’d be having a much different conversation if I did think that, trust me. Alcohol can be a trigger on its own. I should’ve seen the signs better. She’s been a ticking bomb for months.”

Samantha nodded. She’d known this, to an extent, but she hadn’t known it was this bad. Beatrice had told her that she’d had a hard time at St. Stephen’s, but she hadn’t said that she’d had a _panic attack_. And what did Beatrice mean that she was _still_ having nightmares? How long had she been having them, and about what? 

“Don’t beat yourself up, Your Royal Highness,” Mike said, taking in her expression. “Her Majesty isn’t exactly forthcoming.” 

That was certainly true, Sam thought. Her sister had essentially locked herself down when she’d become Princess Royal. _Or was forced to lock herself down_.

“I should’ve tried harder to get her to talk to me,” Sam said, trying to quash her own tears. She shook her head. “I’ll grab her clothes.”

Mike nodded, then headed for the door, Petey following him out. 

Sam stepped into her sister’s closet. She’d always been a little in awe of Beatrice’s organization. Everything was meticulously sorted by season, then clothing type, then color. She’d been a little worried she wouldn’t be able to find where Bee kept her more comfortable clothes, but soon discovered that wouldn’t be an issue. She grabbed a pair of pajama pants out of the drawer aptly labeled ‘pajamas’ in Beatrice’s loopy cursive. She opened the ‘sweatshirts’ drawer next, instantly knowing which one her sister would want. Sam couldn’t be sure who the too-large Harvard crewneck that Beatrice tended to sleep in actually belonged to, but she had a theory. 

“Alright, Bee. Let’s get that hairspray out of your hair,” she said, stepping back into the bathroom. Beatrice hadn’t moved from her spot on the tub’s edge, her shoulders hunched and her hair now falling into her face. Gina sat next to her in silence. 

“Gina, you and Jake go back to bed. We’ve got it from here,” Mike said from behind Sam. 

“You’re off-duty too,” Beatrice said quietly. 

Mike grunted. “That’s why I took off the sword, kid. We’re all just going to adjust a couple hours tomorrow. It’s Sunday, and you don’t have anything scheduled for once.” 

Beatrice nodded. “Thank you, Gina,” she said as the Guard stood. “Tell Jake too.” 

“Of course, Your Majesty,” she replied. 

Mike helped Beatrice stand, his hands under her elbows. “Easy.” He turned to Sam. “She needs to keep those bandages dry.” 

Sam looked at her sister’s hands. “Should we have a doctor look at these?”

Mike shook his head. “I’m pretty confident she didn’t do any nerve damage. The main thing will be making sure she doesn’t get it infected.”

“ _She_ is right here,” Beatrice grumbled. 

Mike placed his hand on the top of Beatrice’s head. “Good, you’re feeling better,” he said. “Now, let your sister help you, and then you’re going to sleep for a full eight hours.” 

Beatrice looked as though she might argue. After a beat, she sighed and nodded minutely. 

“Colin and Petey will be in the hall,” he said to Sam. “You got this?”

Samantha nodded. “Thanks, Mike. Seriously.”

The queen’s Guard nodded. “Ibuprofen and water,” he said, looking at both of them. “Lots of water.” 

Sam heard the front door slide closed. 

“Well, this was one way to get out of having to wear this dress ever again,” Sam said, trying for levity. Beatrice’s hands had splattered blood all down the front of the gown, and the hem had separated as though she’d stepped on it. 

Beatrice blew a breath out her nose. “Probably could have found a better way,” she said. With Beatrice facing her now, Sam could really smell the alcohol on her sister’s breath. 

“Out of curiosity, how much did you drink tonight?” she asked. 

Beatrice shrugged. “I had two glasses beforehand, then I think three after the knighting? But then I stole a bottle from the kitchen and I’m not sure how much of that I had.” 

For someone who rarely drank, that was a lot of alcohol to have in her system. And Sam couldn’t remember if she’d seen her sister eat anything today. 

“I should’ve stayed with you,” Sam said softly, turning Beatrice around to pull down the gown’s zipper. 

Beatrice tried to turn back, stumbling on her hem. Sam grabbed her elbow. 

“No, Sammie! I wanted you to go,” she said, gingerly putting her hands on Sam’s shoulders. “I was just being stupid. I won’t do it again.” 

Samantha was silent while she helped remove Beatrice's gown. She got her into her pajamas, pulling the sweatshirt down over her head. She went and grabbed the chair from Beatrice’s desk in the sitting room, dragging it next to the bathtub. 

“Sit.”

Beatrice sat. 

Sam grabbed a cleansing balm from the vanity, leaning Beatrice’s head back as she used it to remove the remnants of her makeup. 

“You don’t have to,” Beatrice mumbled around the washcloth as Sam wiped her face. Sam just rolled her eyes. 

“Lean back again.” She angled Beatrice’s head over the side of the bathtub, throwing a dry towel around her shoulders. Fortunately Beatrice’s tub had a handheld faucet attachment, so this wouldn’t be too difficult. 

“Seriously, Sammie—”

“ _Seriously_ , Bee, shut up. You can’t get your hands wet and I know you’ll wake up mad if I let you go to sleep with a dirty face and hair.”

“Yeah, but—”

“You’d do it for me, right?” Sam interrupted again. 

Beatrice sighed, blowing more boozy breath into Sam’s face. “Of course I would. But I’m the qu—”

“You’re my _sister_ , Bee. If you say the Q word I’m going to drown you in this bathtub.”

That got a slight chuckle out of her. 

Sam grabbed Beatrice’s shampoo and conditioner out of her shower. The familiar smell of peaches hit her nose as she poured some into her hand. Her sister had used the same brand for as long as Sam could remember.

Sam washed Beatrice’s hair twice. She knew from experience that the updo it had been in required a lot of hairspray. She also knew that Beatrice hated wearing her hair like that, but she’d never pushed back on Adelaide’s insistence. Now wasn’t the time to question her about that, though. 

After rinsing the last of the conditioner from her hair, Sam directed Beatrice to sit up in the chair. She opened the medicine cabinet, knowing that was where Beatrice stored her skincare products.

“You’re going to have to do this part, Bee,” she said. “I don’t even know what half of these are.” She gestured to the various tubs and tubes and pumps on the shelves.

Beatrice rolled her eyes, pointing to a purple jar. “Just hand me that.”

Sam dried Beatrice’s hair with a towel while her sister moisturized her face. “Come on,” she said, helping Beatrice stand. She grabbed the hairbrush off the counter, leading Beatrice into her room with a hand on her back. Franklin got up from his spot on the couch to follow them.

Sam was struck by something as she sat behind her sister on the bed, running the brush gently through her hair. “Where’s Teddy?”

Beatrice shrugged. “Who cares?” she mumbled. “As long as he’s not here.”

Sam’s eyes widened, her hands stilling for a moment. She’d never heard Beatrice talk about her boyfriend like that.

“Sorry,” Beatrice sighed. “I’m being unfair probably. I’m still a little drunk.”

“You said you were mad at him?” Sam prompted. “Earlier, I mean.”

Beatrice nodded, leaning forward to put her forehead to her bent knees. “More his father than him, I guess,” her voice was muffled against her pajama pants. “The Duke told Carnegie that I would meet with him before we went to Telluride.”

“Max Carnegie?” Sam understood instantly why her sister would be upset. “The Duke can’t make appointments for you,” she said.

“I made that very clear to Teddy,” Beatrice said, her voice steely. 

“Do you think that Teddy had anything to do with…” Sam trailed off.

Beatrice shook her head slightly, still leaning on her bent knees. “No,” she huffed. “I doubt Teddy even knows what the big deal is. It’s just that after Mom urged me to move the meeting with Elena Caldwell, having Thomas Eaton try to set me up with Carnegie really set me off.”

“I’ll bet,” Sam agreed. 

“Teddy probably went back to the hotel with his parents,” Beatrice continued. “I wasn’t very nice to him about it.”

This surprised Sam too. Beatrice and Teddy never _actually_ argued. About anything. It always struck Sam as kind of odd. 

“Good for you,” Sam said as she started to braid Beatrice’s hair. “For standing up for yourself, I mean. Thomas Eaton can shove it.”

Beatrice laughed into her flannel-covered knees. “Hopefully I can keep that attitude up for when Carnegie’s secretary inevitably calls to request a meeting. Maybe I’ll just have Lydia tell them I died.”

Sam chuckled, reaching for a hair tie on Beatrice’s nightstand. “Don’t do that. Then I have to deal with him.”

In another uncharacteristic move, Beatrice leaned back into Sam’s arms. “You’d be better at it than me anyway,” she said softly.

Sam wrapped her arms around her sister. Beatrice’s hair was soaking through her sweater, but Sam didn’t care. “That isn’t true, Bee,” she said, leaning her chin on her shoulder. “You’re so good at this.”

Beatrice snorted. “Not according to Mom.”

“Ignore Mom.” Sam tightened her arms. “I mean it, Bee.”

“I’m not ruling like Dad did.” Beatrice’s voice was very small.

“Of course you’re not ruling like Dad did. You’re not Dad. You’re Bee. That’s a _good_ thing. What’s the point of you being the first queen regnant if you’re just going to rule the way all of the men did?”

Beatrice hummed. They sat in silence, Sam waiting for her to respond. Several minutes passed before she realized her sister had fallen asleep. 

Beatrice was a notoriously light sleeper, so Sam waited awhile before slowly slipping out from behind her. She laid Beatrice back against her pillows and pulled the quilt from the end of her bed up and over her. Before leaving, Sam went into the bathroom and filled a glass of water, placing it, a bottle of ibuprofen, and the wrapped nutcracker on Beatrice’s nightstand. She watched her sister’s chest rise and fall slowly for a few more moments, then softly closed the bedroom door behind her.

Petey and Colin stood in the hall.

“Would you guys mind listening for…” Sam trailed off, gesturing back toward Beatrice’s suite.

Petey nodded. “Of course, Your Royal Highness. Lawson has us checking on Her Majesty every hour as well.”

Samantha nodded. She knew Beatrice was alright, but the sight earlier tonight had scared her.

“Thanks, guys. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Your Royal Highness.”

Sam knew it was late, and she slipped into her own suite quietly. She peeled off her layers, tossing them in the direction of the hamper in her closet. Finding her pajamas in a wad on the floor, she went to brush her teeth and wash her face. 

She smiled when she walked into her bedroom. Marshall had clearly been trying to wait up for her. He was asleep on top of the covers, the bedside lamp still burning. He stirred as she reached to pull the magazine he’d been reading off his chest.

“Hey, everything okay?” he asked, his voice thick with sleep.

She nodded, pulling the covers out from under him. He arched up out of her way. “Bee had kind of a bad night. She just needed someone to talk to.” Beatrice and Marshall were relatively close, but Sam was sure her sister wouldn’t want her to mention the drinking or the china-smashing.

He turned, curling around Sam as she got into bed. “She alright?”

Sam sighed, pulling Marshall’s arm tighter around her. “She will be. She might need some support though.”

Marshall pressed a kiss to the back of her head. “Well, she’s got plenty of that,” he said, already drifting back to sleep. 

“I know,” she replied softly. “I’m just not sure she does.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor bee is spiraling a bit, but she has a lot of people looking out for her (even if she doesn't realize it). now she just needs to get to the root of /why/ she's spiraling, which will probably be like pulling teeth because that girl is Bad at introspection.
> 
> thanks for reading!!!


	12. Chapter 12

_yeah, you’re all I never knew I needed_

_and the heart, sometimes it’s unclear why it’s beating_

_and love, if your wings are broken_

_we can brave through those emotions too_

_‘cause I’m gonna stand by you_

_stand by you – rachel platten_

**The Next Morning**

Beatrice woke slowly this time. When she’d woken up earlier in the night, that had been a jolt. She’d managed to make it to her bathroom before she puked on her bedroom floor, but only barely. She must have made some noise when she’d done it too, because Petey had come in to check on her. He’d knelt next to her, a hand on her back, while she’d emptied the meager contents of her stomach. Then he’d made her drink two glasses of water before he’d returned to his post outside her suite. 

Judging by the light seeping through her filmy curtains, it was later than she usually slept. She went to sit up, hissing as she put weight on her right hand. Her head throbbed dully, but it actually felt better than it had during the ball. She reached over to her nightstand, searching for the bottle of ibuprofen. Her hand collided with a box, about the length of her forearm, wrapped in red and gold paper. She vaguely remembered her sister having it in her hand when she’d come into her room last night.

_This must be for me_ , Beatrice thought. Sam would have taken it with her if it wasn’t, she assumed. Using her teeth to rip the paper off, she gingerly lifted the lid off the cardboard box. A bubble of laughter burst from her chest as she saw what was inside.

Nutcracker Beatrice had exaggerated eyelashes and pink cheeks painted onto her wooden face. The gown was well-done, the gold brocade pattern swirling among the cream. She tipped it out of the box onto her bedspread. She was thrilled to see that the jaw was functioning. She flicked the lever up and down several times, smiling as the nutcracker likeness’s mouth opened and closed. 

She reached toward the nightstand again, searching for her phone. Its usual spot, however, was empty. She didn’t remember what she’d done with it. She was pretty sure she hadn’t brought it with her to the ball, but beyond that her mind was blank. Hopefully it was around here somewhere. The queen’s personal cell phone falling into the wrong hands would definitely give Lucy an aneurysm. Not that there was anything particularly incriminating on it, although she was sure that there were probably some texts from her sister that weren’t particularly flattering to certain members of the Washington elite.

Rolling out of bed, she shuffled into her bathroom. She needed to thank her sister not just for the nutcracker, but also for taking care of her last night. She’d never have been able to wash her face and hair by herself, and she could only imagine what she would look like now if she hadn’t. As it was, her hair was escaping her braids somewhat, the shorter tendrils at the front curling around her temples. 

She wasn’t quite sure how she was supposed to shower without getting her hands wet. She dug through the drawers beside her sink, finally finding some latex gloves in a first aid kit. _As good as it’s gonna get_.

After a shower that largely consisted of her haphazardly dousing herself in body wash, she put on her robe and slippers and stumbled into her closet. Franklin perked up from his spot on the couch in her sitting room. 

“I know, bud. We’ll go outside in a minute,” she told him. His tail wagged wildly at the prospect.

A knock sounded from the front door of her suite as she was slipping a sweater over her head.

“Yeah?” she called out.

She heard the door slide open. “Oh good, you’re awake,” Mike said. “Get dressed.”

“I am dressed,” she grumbled. “Why?”

He appeared in the closet doorway. He had a heavy coat on over the Guard’s uniform, a gray wool cap pulled over his head. “We’re taking a walk. There’s coffee and a bagel in it for you.” He held up a bag from Donny’s Bakery. “You’ll need your boots,” he said as she reached for a pair of sneakers. “It snowed last night.”

Beatrice perked up. “It did?” She darted to the window. “It did!”

Mike rolled his eyes. “Hurry up, your coffee is getting cold.”

They made their way out of the Palace, Franklin trotting along in front of them, Jake and Gina following behind. 

Beatrice took a deep breath once they were outside. The first snow of the year always smelled different. The city had gotten about six inches, and she was pleased to find it still cold enough that it hadn’t melted. Franklin immediately dove headfirst into the fresh powder. Fortunately Beatrice had managed to wrangle him into his coat and snow booties before they’d ventured outside.

She and Mike walked along for several minutes in silence. They walked along the river, eventually leaving the Palace grounds. Beatrice took a sip of her coffee, letting the hot liquid warm her from the inside. She’d shoved the bagel into her mouth already, having found herself weirdly starving after last night.

“You gonna talk?” she asked her Guard. “There must be some reason you bribed me with a blueberry bagel.”

Mike snorted, taking a sip of his own drink. “Well, to get the first thing out of the way, you need to give me a heads up next time you decide to go on a bender.”

Beatrice groaned, tilting her head back to the sky. “God, that was such a security risk,” she said. “Not just for you. I’m lucky I didn’t get called to the Sit Room.”

Mike blew air out of his nose. “I’m sure Admiral Oliver would have enjoyed a belligerent queen.”

“Was I belligerent?” Beatrice asked, a little horrified. She didn’t actually remember what had happened between the pantry and her bathroom.

“Nah,” Mike shook his head. “You were upset, but you weren’t mean or anything. I did have to carry you out of there, though. You were pretty determined to pulverize those dishes.”

She kicked at the snow along the pathway. “I’m sure that was a fun sight for the staff.”

“We cleared the halls beforehand, kid. No one saw.”

This reminded Beatrice. “Is that why Jake and Gina were there?” she jerked her head in their direction. “I don’t remember them showing up.”

Mike nodded. “It was an ‘all hands on deck’ situation.” 

Beatrice looked at him for a moment. He had slight bags under his eyes, and his beard was a little unkempt. “I’m sorry for causing trouble.”

“That’s the other thing we need to talk about,” Mike replied. He took another sip of coffee before continuing. “You don’t need to apologize, let’s get that clear.” He turned his head to look at her. She nodded to appease him.

“You’ve been cooking for a while,” he continued. “Something set you off last night.”

Beatrice sighed. “I don’t know. You know I don’t like the balls very much.” Mike nodded. “And since my dad…” She trailed off, a lump shocking into her throat. She swallowed it down, taking a deep breath. “I honestly don’t know what happened last night. It wasn’t this hard last year.”

It hadn’t been. She’d smiled through that Queen’s Ball, dancing with Teddy and mingling with American nobility with no problem. The picture of a happy, untroubled queen. 

“Grief is weird, kid,” Mike said after a moment. “It doesn’t hit us when we think it will.”

“Grief?” She squinted against the glare of the sun off the snow, regretting that she hadn’t grabbed her sunglasses on the way out.

Mike looked at her like she was an idiot. “Your dad died. I know I wasn’t around then, but I think I know you well enough to know that you probably didn’t process it in a healthy way. Weren’t _allowed_ to process it in a healthy way.”

Beatrice kicked the snow some more. 

“I processed it fine,” she argued, sending a chunk of ice skidding across the snow-covered sidewalk. The park service, who controlled the area lining the river, clearly hadn’t been by yet. 

At this, he laughed out loud. “Kid, I’m in the Revere Guard, remember? I know what happened that night. You were with him when he went down. And then you found out he died in front of thousands of people, and then had to walk behind his funeral procession in front of millions. I don’t care how many weeks you spent at your country house afterward, no one on Earth would be okay after that.”

“Well, I —” she started.

“And then,” he barreled on, ignoring her, “they try and make you get married to some guy you barely know, not even four months later? That’s gonna fuck with anyone’s psyche.”

Mike continued walking, drinking his coffee as though he hadn’t just dropped a grenade on her.

“The country was —”

He interrupted her again. “Don’t even start with me. The country needed a leader, not you being a child bride.”

“I was twenty-two!” She stamped her feet a little. 

“Child. Bride.” He snorted. “An infant, getting married.”

“My mother was that age when she got married,” Beatrice argued.

“All due respect to your mother, but she isn’t the queen. And your father wasn’t king at the time either. Your circumstances are in no way similar.”

This gave her pause. She hadn’t thought of it like that before, but Mike had a point. Not only had her father been several years older than Beatrice now was when her parents had gotten married, but he’d had almost fifteen years before he’d ascended to the throne. That was a lot of time to get one’s head on straight before being handed a country. 

“I don’t know why we’re even talking about this,” she huffed. “I called the wedding off.”

“Still kept the guy around, I noticed.” He took another long sip of his coffee. “He makes a good security blanket, to be fair.”

“That isn’t what Teddy is,” she snapped. Mike looked at her sideways.

That wasn’t why she’d kept Teddy around, was it? _I love him_. It was true that they were apart a lot, but that was to be expected from a technically long distance relationship. Teddy still officially lived in Boston. And yeah, she didn’t like his friends very much. Or at all. And his parents were somehow even more stifling than her own. But Teddy was a good guy. He took the pressure off of her. At least, she thought he did. She didn’t want to dwell too long on her recent incidents. 

Mike cleared his throat. “You haven’t even asked where he was last night.”

_Dammit._ Mike had her there.

“Well? Where was he?” she asked after Mike didn’t offer up the information.

“Colin went and told him that you weren’t feeling well and had requested that he stay at the hotel with his parents.”

Beatrice nodded. This is about what she’d assumed. It’s what she would have asked if she’d been in the frame of mind to do so.

“He didn’t push the issue,” Mike continued, his voice carrying a judgmental edge.

“That’s probably my fault,” Beatrice defended. “I made it clear I wasn’t happy with him earlier.”

Mike rolled his eyes. “All the more reason for him to want to check on you, kid.” He paused. The snow crunched under their feet as they continued further from the Palace.

“Oh my god, what?” she blurted out after a moment. “What else do you want to say?”

“He treats you like…” he stroked a hand down his short beard. “Does he ever ask you how you’re doing?” He seemed to settle on this question, as though he’d thought better of what he’d started to say. 

Beatrice’s spine straightened. “He checks on me,” she defended again mildly, her voice turning haughty. “Teddy knows I don’t need coddling.”

“Jesus, it’s worse than I thought,” Mike said under his breath. “It’s not _coddling_ , kid.” This was said louder. “You have one of the hardest jobs in the world, and until pretty recently you were doing it without any real support.” He clearly meant her new staff. “ _And your father just died_ ,” he ended emphatically.

“Almost two years ago,” Beatrice corrected.

“That’s _just_ , kid. He was your dad. There’s not some expiration date on that kind of thing.”

They’d reached one of the bridges that spanned the Potomac. She whistled for Franklin, who had bounded ahead, pulling his leash out of her pocket. There wasn’t much traffic with all of the snow, but the yellow lab wasn’t the brightest around cars. He protested slightly as she hooked it to his collar, huffing dramatically. 

“My sister died,” Mike said suddenly. “When I was sixteen.”

Beatrice looked up abruptly. She stared at her Guard for a moment. He wasn’t looking at her. He’d turned toward the river, watching with unseeing eyes.

“I’m so sorry,” she said after a moment.

He let out a long breath. “Maddy was eight. We were at our grandparents’ house for the summer. I’d taken her down to the river to swim. We’d been there maybe an hour? Jenna Lawrence showed up with some of her friends. Jenna Lawrence was the prettiest girl in the county,” he explained. “I looked away for a second. And then Maddy was just gone. I looked away for a _second_.”

Beatrice nodded, stepping closer to him. Franklin whined, tired of standing still.

“It turned out that she’d slipped and hit her head. It was one of those freak things. Even if I had been watching her, it wouldn’t have made a difference.” He turned back toward Beatrice, snapping back into Guard mode. Even though Jake and Gina were flanking them, Mike’s eyes scanned the bridge quickly. 

Beatrice’s voice seemed stuck somewhere in her chest. She felt immense sadness for Mike, and for his sister, and she didn’t quite know how to express it. She just continued looking at him.

“It took me a really long time to be able to say that,” Mike said, blowing out a breath. “For years I was convinced that I’d killed her. It didn’t matter that my parents never once blamed me, or that the doctors said she’d died instantly. I was her big brother, I should’ve been able to save her.”

“Mike…” Beatrice said, her voice soft. 

He shook his head, sniffing slightly. He reached a hand out, gesturing for her now empty coffee cup. He walked a few paces away to toss it and his into one of the trash cans along the bridge. 

“I know it’s scary,” he said as he came to stand in front of her again. “And that you’ve got a hell of a lot more going on in your life than a punk high school junior did. But the only way out is through.”

Beatrice suddenly understood why he’d told her this story. “Last night wasn’t about my dad,” she said, folding her arms across her chest. 

Mike just raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. Truth be told, she wasn’t particularly convinced either. She huffed, watching her breath vaporize in front of her. 

“I’m no shrink, kid, but I’d be willing to bet that most of this,” he gestured vaguely behind her, back toward the Palace in the distance, “is about your dad.”

It was her turn to sniff loudly. In her defense, she thought, it was really cold out. Franklin whined again. 

“Okay,” she sighed deeply, staring out over the river. “Maybe you two have a point.” Mike didn’t question her phrasing, confirming her suspicions of his eavesdropping on her and Lena the other night. “ _Maybe_ ,” she emphasized at the sight of his small smile.

“‘Maybe’ is more progress, kid.”

She rolled her eyes. “You know, I don’t think it’s in your job description to pry into my psychological well-being,” she said.

Mike lifted one shoulder. “Our job is to protect you. Sometimes that includes from yourself.”

Beatrice pursed her lips. “You gonna fire me again?” he asked.

She let out a tiny huff of laughter. “No.” She shook her head. “Although there are times when it’s tempting.”

Franklin barked again, knocking Beatrice in the stomach with his front paws as he jumped up. 

“Okay, okay. We’re going,” she told the lab, unhooking his claw from the zipper on her parka to set him back on the ground. 

They meandered back to the Palace in largely comfortable silence. After feeding an antsy Franklin, Beatrice headed up to her suite. She’d shed her boots, coat, and gloves when she remembered something. 

“Do any of you know what I did with my phone?” she stuck her head out her front door, tugging her beanie off. Her hair was still in braids, so at least she didn’t have to worry about hat hair.

“I put it in your desk drawer, Your Majesty,” Gina said. “You’d tossed it on the floor, I figured that was a safer place for it.”

Beatrice groaned. “Thanks, Gina.” 

Sure enough, her phone was sitting on top of a stack of notebooks in the top drawer of her desk. Picking it up, she pressed the home button. The screen was dark. Tilting her head, she pressed the side button. _Figures_ , she thought as the screen remained black. She went into her bedroom and plugged it into the charger next to her bed. 

“Oh good, you’re back.”

Beatrice nearly jumped out of her skin. “Jesus, Jeff. Announce yourself, would you?” She clutched a hand to her chest as she turned around.

Her brother rolled his eyes. “Jeff, your favorite baby brother, has entered the room,” he said, throwing his arms out dramatically in the doorway. 

“You’re my _only_ baby brother, Peanut.”

Jeff smiled. “Details, details,” he said. “Come on, we’re watching Die Hard, your attendance is mandatory.”

Beatrice glanced down at her phone. It hadn’t charged enough yet to even turn on. 

“Come on, Beatrice,” Jeff stepped closer, throwing his arm around her shoulders. “No working today. It’s Sunday and the day after Christmas. There’s no external crisis happening.” He glanced down at her gauze-wrapped hands. 

“I’m fine,” she said quickly. 

“Alright,” Jeff replied. “Whatever you say.” He dragged her out of her room. “It’s time for hot chocolate and action movies.”

Her brother pulled her along toward the theater room. 

“How was your night?” she asked him. Looking up at his face, she noted that he looked as disheveled as ever. The media always talked about how ‘ruggedly handsome’ and ‘devil may care’ Jeff was, but Beatrice was pretty sure there were other reasons for his appearance. “I don’t even think I saw you.”

Jeff shrugged. “You were busy,” he said. “I came in late anyway. Got a Mom Glare for my troubles.” 

Beatrice chuckled, elbowing him in the ribs. “Don’t worry, I think we all got a Mom Glare last night.” Beatrice realized something. “Did you not bring Daphne? You said ‘I.’” 

Jeff shrugged again. “She’s been sick. I told her to stay home. Telluride is more fun anyway.” 

_Ugh_. “So she’s coming to Telluride then?” Beatrice asked, hoping she sounded appropriately curious. 

Jeff must have bought it. “Yeah, Mom invited her parents to the New Year’s Eve party,” he replied. 

Beatrice had almost forgotten about New Year’s Eve. The royal family’s annual party was legendary, but she wasn’t particularly looking forward to it this year. After last night, she had a feeling that she wouldn’t be able to be the charming young queen that she’d been last year. That was going to require a little more effort this time around.

Jeff suddenly looped his arm around her neck, pulling her head closer so that he could rub his knuckles into her hair, breaking her out of her reverie. “Jeff!” 

“Finally!” Samantha said as Jeff dragged her into the theater. “Hurry up, you two. I managed to snag some leftover Christmas cookies from the carolers yesterday.” She held up a platter piled high with iced sugar cookies. Beatrice noted that her siblings were wearing matching Christmas pajamas. This brought up vague memories from their childhood, although Beatrice couldn’t quite grasp at anything solid. 

Jeff pulled Beatrice further into the room, plopping them down next to Sam on one of the couches. “Minds off, everyone!” he demanded. “Time for John McClane to save us from terrorists.”

Beatrice smiled, burrowing further into the cushions. Still feeling vulnerable after last night, she laid her head onto Sam’s shoulder as Jeff threw his legs over both of their laps. _Mind off, Beatrice._ Easier said than done.

The three siblings ended up watching the first two _Die Hard_ films. By the time the credits were playing on the sequel, Jeff was complaining that he was dying of starvation. 

Beatrice had given the entire Palace household staff the week off, much to her mother’s irritation. The lead-up to the Queen’s Ball was always hectic, and Beatrice had always felt bad that the staff had to miss Christmas with their own families because of it. A paid week of vacation seemed like the least she could do. 

Fortunately, Sam and Jeff were pros at ordering delivery. 

“You were always with Dad,” Jeff said when she asked them why she’d never known how often the twins were on their own for meals. “Or off doing princess duties.”

“We should have included you more,” Sam said, looking remorseful. 

Beatrice had shaken her head. “It’s not your fault.”

Jeff’s next words were still replaying in her head. “It’s not yours either.”

Beatrice collapsed face-first onto her bed, full from the pizza they’d ordered. She flipped over, reaching for her phone. The past twenty or so hours were probably the longest she’d ever gone without checking it. It immediately started chiming with notifications as it blinked to life.

She clicked open the messages app. A text from Lena waited for her. 

_I was briefed about last night_ , it read. _I’m back in Washington first thing Monday. You and I are going to talk, whether you like it or not._ Beatrice smiled at Lena’s tone. She knew that Lena, as chief of staff, would be notified about her incident. It was protocol whenever there was a security issue with the sovereign, which she supposed included when the sovereign sliced her own hands open on fine china in a fit of drunken _something_. 

_Yes, ma’am_ , she replied. 

Lena’s response was immediate. _You are okay, right? I can come back early._

_I’m fine, really. Not a chief of staff emergency._

Three dots appeared and disappeared several times, as though Lena was reformulating her response.

_I know it’s not a chief of staff emergency. I’d be coming back as your friend, dummy._

Beatrice stared at the screen for several moments. She knew that _she_ thought of Lena as a friend, but she’d always assumed that Lena just thought of her as her boss. That’s what she’d thought when Lena had come to her suite on Christmas Eve. That Lena was just upset about the way she was handling Palace policy with Caldwell and the pipeline. But maybe it had been more than that. 

_My brother and sister are here. I’m good for now._ After a moment, she texted another reply. _I really appreciate the offer, Lena_. 

_Of course. I’ll see you for senior staff tomorrow_. Beatrice met with her senior staff members at seven every morning. 

She clicked on a message from Teddy next. _Hey, I hope you’re feeling better. I went back to Boston with my parents this morning. I stopped by to say goodbye but the guard at the front said you’d gone out for a while. Call me if you get the chance._ Then, adding to her guilt: _Love you_. 

Beatrice didn’t really feel up to talking to Teddy just yet. Her anger from last night hadn’t completely worn off, and she didn’t want to confront him about it. It wasn’t even his fault. His father was the one who’d stepped in it.

_Watching movies with the twins_ , she fibbed slightly. _Sorry I didn’t say goodnight. I’ll call you tomorrow._ Then, so she didn’t seem like a total asshole, she added: _Love you too_. 

She did feel bad that she’d essentially left him hanging last night, but she also had no desire to tell him what had actually happened. She was embarrassed, for one, but she also didn’t want to have to explain herself. It would be hard to explain to Teddy why she’d had such a visceral reaction to the sight of their old wedding china, especially when she wasn’t entirely sure she could explain it to herself.

Closing her messages, she saw that she had several voicemails. The first was Ben, telling her that Lena had ordered him to not send her any emails until Monday. Beatrice laughed when she heard Chloe yell ‘Merry Christmas!’ in the background. 

The next message was Grandmama, calling to wish her a Merry Christmas and to inform her that her gown last night had been “quite something.” This was Southern grandmother speak for “truly hideous.” Glancing at the clock, Beatrice saw that it was after seven, which meant her grandmother was having dinner. Calling Grandmama during dinner was a good way to get a lecture on how her etiquette teacher had clearly done a terrible job, so that would have to wait.

The last voicemail notification made Beatrice’s heart thump a little irregularly. She hadn’t saved Connor’s number in her phone, but her finger had hovered over it in her call log enough times that she had it memorized. If she was being honest with herself, which she tried to avoid, she missed him so much that it hurt. Seeing him a couple months ago had only made it worse. What used to be an occasional dull ache had amplified into something else entirely, and it was getting harder and harder to tamp it down. 

At the wedding, she’d been so sure that she was making the right decision. And for the next year or so, she was convinced that she had. She and Teddy were the picture of a happy couple. The public adored them together. Lately though, she hadn’t stood on quite such solid ground. It wasn’t even about Teddy. He was as solid and dependable as ever. The issue, she was coming to realize, was _her_. 

Beatrice was so lost in her thoughts that she hadn’t realized the voicemail had been playing on a loop for several minutes. Rewinding it, she put the phone up to her ear.

“Hey,” Connor’s voice said. “I was just calling to say Merry Christmas, and,” he paused, “at the risk of you yelling at me for worrying too much, ask if you’re doing okay. My mom and sister were watching coverage of the ball and you just...” She heard him sigh. “You seemed like maybe you’re not…Sorry,” he said finally. “It’s not really my business, I know. Just, I’m here. If you want to talk or whatever. Bye.” He ended awkwardly.

She lay there staring at the ceiling for several long minutes. Her eyes stung, and she realized that she’d been crying. She blotted at her face with the heel of her hand, her fingers still wrapped in gauze. _Damn him_ , she thought. He had every right to hate her guts, after what she’d done to him, and instead he calls to check on her. It’d be easier if he _did_ hate her guts. Then maybe she could continue to pretend that everything was fine with the way her life was going. 

Without conscious thought, she’d clicked the ‘call’ button, the tone surprising in her ear. 

“Hey, Bee,” his voice deep and warm. He’d answered on the first ring, before she could second-guess herself. She could hear voices and laughter. 

Beatrice took a breath. She tried to push a ‘hi’ out, but it lodged somewhere in her throat. She coughed, trying to loosen it.

“Bee?”

She took a shuddering breath, trying again. “Hey!” That didn’t even sound convincing to her own ears. 

Sure enough, Connor didn’t buy it for a second. 

“You okay?” he asked. She heard the noise in the background grow muffled, as though he’d shut a door. 

“Yeah!” she answered. “I was just calling to —”

“Beatrice,” he cut her off, “are you okay?” He asked this slowly, as though she might not have understood him the first time. 

She felt the answer burst out of her. “No,” she said, her eyes growing hot again. “No, I don’t think I am.” Connor was quiet for a moment, as she tried to stop crying. “How did you know?” she asked through her tears, almost annoyed.

“I can see through your queen mask, Bee. Remember?” He spoke softly. “What’s going on?”

Beatrice took another couple of breaths, trying to settle down. The deep sound of his voice was helping, which wasn’t something she wanted to think too hard about. 

“I, um, had a panic attack last night, I think. Another panic attack,” she admitted half-heartedly. 

“Bee,” he said hoarsely. He cleared his throat. “Have you had a lot of them?” 

She shrugged. “A couple,” she said. “Maybe more, if I’m being honest.” She thought of the other times that her chest had tightened or her vision had blurred. She’d hidden in the bathroom at her birthday party last year for several minutes, gasping for air so badly that she’d come close to telling the Guards she needed to go to the hospital. She’d managed to get it together, but just barely. 

“For a while I thought it was just because I’m so tired all the time,” she continued. “But I’m starting to think maybe the lack of sleep isn’t the problem.” The words started to pour out of her. “The nightmares don’t help. I’m starting to scare the Guards I think.” 

She listened to Connor take several breaths. “What are the nightmares about?” he asked finally. He was using the voice he used when he wanted to say something else, but had thought better of it. Connor could needle her about her cocktail party voice all he wanted. He had a Guard voice. 

“Different things,” she answered. “I don’t remember all of them. Sometimes I’m running from something I can’t see, or I’m stuck in a room with no door. Other times, they’re about…” _Dammit, Beatrice. Stop crying._ “My dad,” she finished. “The night he died.” 

“How often do you have nightmares?” More of the voice.

“I don’t know. Three nights a week?”

He blew out a long breath. “Bee.” She heard pain seep into her name. Good thing she’d rounded down on that estimate. She had nightmares most nights. “Have you talked to anyone about this?”

“My Guards know about the attacks. And the nightmares to an extent, I guess.” She wouldn’t mention _why_ the Guards knew about the nightmares. Connor didn’t need to know she’d freaked out so badly that weapons had been drawn. She started chewing on her pinky nail. “Mike thinks I haven’t processed my dad in a healthy way. He’s probably right, as much as I hate to admit it.”

This got a tiny chuckle out of him, although it sounded kind of watery. “I know from experience that admitting that Lawson is right is quite painful.” 

Beatrice laughed. “Lena came to my suite the other night too. I think she thinks it isn’t just my dad’s death that’s making me a little…” she trailed off, waving her hand in the air. “She said I should maybe see someone. A therapist or something.”

“Should you?” Connor asked, his voice curious. 

She sighed. “I don’t know. Maybe? I talked to one of the Palace psychologists right after it happened, but it didn’t really help.”

“The Palace psychologists are on the royal payroll, right?” 

“Yeah, why?” She moved from her pinky nail to the cuticle around her thumb. 

“Just, there’s different kinds of therapy. It took me a few tries to find one that worked for me.”

She sat up abruptly. “You’ve been to therapy?” She’d had no idea. 

“Yeah. After that mission went sideways, I was having symptoms of post-traumatic stress.” Beatrice noted that he said this easily, as though he was telling her about a time he’d had the flu. 

“Did it help?” She twirled her hair around her finger. She found herself cursing herself again for not talking to him more about this. Something in her chest twisted at the thought of him suffering and in pain, even if she hadn’t known him yet when it happened.

“Yeah, Bee. It did. It wasn’t overnight or anything, but it helped me get through the hard part.”

“The only way out is through,” she said softly. 

“Huh?”

“Nothing,” she chuckled. “It’s something Mike said this morning. The only way out is through.”

Connor snorted. “Unfortunately, Lawson is right again.”

Beatrice heard an eruption of laughter in the background, and someone yelled Connor’s name. “Where are you?” she asked. 

“My parents’. There’s a very lively game of Uno going on downstairs. It sounds like my sister just put down a Draw 4.” 

“I didn’t mean to take you away from your family! Why didn’t you say anything?” she admonished him. 

“I’ve been with my family all weekend, Bee.” She could practically hear his eye roll. “When I said call me anytime, I meant it. No matter what time it is or where I might be.”

She sighed, tipping sideways to lay her head on her pillow. “You’re too nice to me,” she said. 

He scoffed. “Someone has to be.” 

She smiled. Someone shouted his name again. “I’ll let you get back to your family. It sounds like they might need a referee,” she laughed. 

“As usual,” he chuckled. “Merry Christmas, Bee.”

“Merry Christmas, Connor. Tell your family too.”

“Holiday wishes from Her Majesty. My mom won’t know what to do with herself.”

Beatrice let out an uncharacteristic giggle. “From the queen and from your friend Bee. Make sure they know it’s from both of us.”

“I will,” he said. She hoped she wasn’t imagining the smile in his voice. “Night, Princess.”

She rolled her eyes at the old nickname, even if it did make her feel warm all over. Another thing she wouldn’t dwell on. “Night, Markham.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Monday Morning**

“You scared the hell out of me, you know?” Lena said, storming into Beatrice’s office. She loudly clunked a to-go cup of coffee on her desk. 

Beatrice looked up from her agriculture briefing. “Is that for me?” she nodded her head toward the cup.

“Yes,” Lena huffed. “Quad-shot vanilla latte, even though I should know better than to give you that much caffeine.”

Beatrice smiled, lunging for the coffee. “What’d I scare you about?” she asked, taking a sip.

Lena cocked her head, leaning her hands onto Beatrice’s desk, her nails now a deep purple that matched her pantsuit. “You’re joking, right? I do not enjoy getting phone calls from Commander Desrosiers that you’ve had some kind of episode and sliced your hands open on rich people plates.” She jerked her chin at Beatrice’s wrapped hands.

“I didn’t have an _episode_ ,” Beatrice argued. She heard Mike make a drawn out _eh_ sound from outside.

Lena threw her hand out toward the door. 

“Okay, so I had an episode,” Beatrice said, sitting back in her chair. “But I’m fine. No need for the theatrics.”

“Mike! Colin! Gina!” Lena called, not taking her eyes off Beatrice. “Could you come in here for a second, please?”

The Guards filed in. “Scale of one to ten, how bad was she on Saturday?” She nodded her head towards Beatrice. 

Beatrice groaned. 

“Solid eight I’d say?” Mike turned toward Colin and Gina. “Eight?” he asked again. 

“Eight sounds about right,” Colin agreed. 

“To be fair to Her Majesty, I didn’t see any of the plate smashing,” Gina said. Lena raised an eyebrow. “Eight is probably accurate.”

Beatrice glared at them over her coffee. “Betrayed by my own Revere Guard,” she grumbled. 

“Thanks, y’all.” Lena turned back to the queen as they left. “You ready to admit there might be a problem?” she asked. 

Beatrice sighed. “I suppose,” she dragged the word out, “that I can admit that _perhaps_ I could benefit from talking to someone.” 

Lena nodded, straightening up. “I’ll make the calls today.”

“Wait, Lena, you don’t have to do that. I’m sure there’s a list somewhere of —”

Lena cut her off. “Beatrice, you’ve already said that the Palace psychologist wasn’t helpful. Excuse me for thinking that it’s time to venture outside of the inner circle.” Lena made no secret of her dislike of the Washington blue bloods. 

Beatrice took another sip of coffee. “Okay,” she nodded. “It’s just that they need to —”

“Confidentiality, I know. Believe me, if anyone betrays your trust, I’ll kill them myself.” 

Beatrice hid her grin in the lid. She had no doubt Lena would. “I’m not doing this just to be a pain in the ass, you know,” Lena continued, her deep brown eyes searching Beatrice’s face. “I’m worried about you.”

Beatrice sighed. She glanced down at her bandaged hands. She’d bled through a couple of them during the night, Gina had helped her change them this morning. Even Beatrice had to admit that it didn’t look good. At least with no household staff in the building this week she wouldn’t have to worry about any potential gossip. Although, now that she thought about it, the Palace, which had historically been as leaky as a sieve, had been remarkably quiet over the past year or so. Maybe it was because she’d given the press better access? 

“Were you…” Lena trailed off. “You promise that you weren’t trying to hurt yourself?”

Beatrice’s head shot up. She caught her coffee cup just as it started to tip out of her hand, foam spilling out of the hole in the lid and onto her skirt. “Of course not.”

Lena stared down at her hands. “Lena, I swear that isn’t what I was doing,” Beatrice urged, wiping at her skirt. “I’m not saying I can explain my thought process at the time, but I didn’t mean to do this.” She held up her left hand.

Lena’s eyes met hers. “Okay. I believe you,” she said after a beat. “I’ll still feel better once you’ve seen someone.”

Beatrice nodded, accepting the inevitable. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the people who care about bee are going to make her deal with her emotions whether she likes it or not!
> 
> we're heading into the telluride trip, which promises Drama and Shenanigans.
> 
> i've also upped the rating, mainly for language at the moment, but as the characters continue to get older and age out of adolescence i didn't want to limit them to the T rating. 
> 
> thanks for reading!!!


	13. Chapter 13

_I don’t care what people think ‘cause that makes people think I’m cool_

_and I won’t ever tell a lie, other than the one I just told_

_my music’s kind of dirty, but my record’s clean_

_so what you see is what you get, but what you get ain’t what it seems_

_cuss a little – kylie morgan feat. walker hayes_

**Thursday Night**

Beatrice picked at the gingham fabric on the chair’s armrest. She’d already peeled all of her nail polish off, and needed something else to focus on.

“Did you have a nightmare last night?” Julia asked. 

Lena had arrived at the Palace this morning to inform Beatrice that she had a therapy appointment that evening. She seemed to have known that Beatrice needed as little advance warning as possible, to avoid any chickening out. 

So far, Beatrice didn’t mind Julia Fairchild. She was probably in her forties, with shoulder-length dark blond hair and an open face. Julia had also made very clear from the outset that she would not be referring to Beatrice as Her Majesty. “I’m sure your role will come into play at some point, but I’m here for you,” she’d said, “not your title.”

Julia had already gotten out of her that she typically only slept about four or five hours a night. After pushing through her excuses that her job was a particularly stressful one, Julia had honed in on the nightmares.

“Yes,” Beatrice said, pulling at a loose thread on the chair. She looked back up at Julia, who sat across from her. They were in the Washingtons’ private sitting room on the second floor. Beatrice’s mother had gone ahead to Telluride a few days early, so Beatrice didn’t have to worry about any judgmental comments. Adelaide wouldn’t care about the therapy per se, but the fact that Beatrice hadn’t used someone from the Palace would certainly start an argument. “I suppose you want me to tell you about it?”

“That is kind of the point, yes,” Julia responded. Beatrice always assumed that therapists took notes, but Julia kept her eyes on her the entire time.

Beatrice sighed. “It was the doorless room one,” she said.

“So you have recurring dreams, then?”

Beatrice nodded. “They’re not always exactly the same, but overall yeah. My dreams have always been the same. My teeth fall out when I’m stressed.”

Julia chuckled slightly. “A lot of people have the teeth dream. Tell me about the doorless room.”

Beatrice huffed. “It’s just a room with no doors or windows.”

“What does the room look like?”

“Gray.”

“Are you alone in the room?”

“Yes.”

“What happens in the room?”

Beatrice gave up on the thread. “I’m trapped, obviously. I yell for help, pound on the walls. Then the room gets smaller.”

“How small does it get?” Julia asked.

Beatrice thought about this for a moment. “I have to crouch at some point. Sometimes it gets small enough that I have to lie down before I wake up.”

Julia hummed. 

“Well?” Beatrice asked. “Aren’t you going to tell me what it means?”

“What do you think it means?”

Beatrice groaned.

“Sorry,” Julia smiled, “couldn’t resist. Dream analysis has been pretty much debunked as a psychological tool. I care more about the _why_ than the _what_. How long have you been having nightmares like this?”

“Two years on and off,” Beatrice answered. “They weren’t as often for a while, but they got even worse about a year ago.”

Julia tilted her head, looking thoughtful. “When did they originally start?” Beatrice could tell she already knew the answer to that question.

“When my dad died.” This came out a little snappier than she’d intended.

Julia just nodded. “Do you ever dream about the night that happened?”

Beatrice nodded slightly, looking down at her lap. She was sitting with her spine straight, her ankles crossed, but she could feel herself becoming more fidgety by the minute. 

“What happens in those dreams?”

Beatrice felt herself shaking her head, her hair falling out of its bun in pieces.

Julia was silent for several moments. “You said the nightmares have gotten worse. Do you mean in frequency? Or in content?”

“Both?” Beatrice shrugged, thankful Julia hadn’t pressed about that night. “For a while I only had them once a week or so.” 

“When was that?”

Beatrice considered this. “When Teddy and I first started…” She trailed off, not quite sure how to explain the beginning of their relationship. “Dating, I guess? I was okay for a while after I called off the wedding, but they started back up again sometime after the New Year.”

“What happened after the New Year?”

This required more consideration. “My security was increased. And that’s about when I started thinking about hiring new staff.”

Julia nodded.

“Do you think that’s what started my nightmares again?” Beatrice asked after several moments of silence.

“Maybe,” Julia shrugged, “maybe not.”

Beatrice huffed, finally giving into the antsy feeling and using her arms to lift herself up to cross her legs underneath her in the chair. She’d changed into jeans and her giant Harvard sweatshirt before this session. She burrowed her hands into the sleeves.

“Tell me what happened on Christmas night,” Julia said, switching topics.

Beatrice did _not_ want to go into what happened on Christmas night. “I drank more than usual.”

Julia continued looking at her. “Why did you drink more than usual?”

Beatrice leaned back in the chair, drawing one of her knees out from under her, propping her foot on the chair. Her mom wasn’t there to yell at her about shoes on the furniture.

“I don’t know. I just did.” Julia let this sit for several minutes. “I didn’t really mean to,” Beatrice added. “I think I was trying to avoid talking to people.”

“Do you often try to avoid talking to people?”

“Certain people, I guess. Yeah.” Beatrice leaned her chin on her bent knee, wrapping her arms around her leg.

“Which people?” 

_Dammit, I shouldn’t have said anything_. “Certain members of the nobility, I guess. I don’t know,” she hedged.

“I’d imagine as queen that you have to talk to members of the nobility quite a bit,” Julia said.

Beatrice shrugged. “Not usually, actually. It’s just at events like the Queen’s Ball. I’m the only noble with any actual governing power.” 

If Julia noticed the snippy tone she’d used on that last bit, she didn’t say anything. “Did you always avoid talking to these people?”

“I’m not supposed to avoid talking to them.”

Julia raised an eyebrow.

“No,” Beatrice conceded. “I didn’t.” Anticipating Julia’s next question, she added, “It’s been in the last few months, really. I used to just rely on Teddy to talk to one half, I’d take the other. I don’t even want to take my half anymore though. And – ” she cut herself off.

“And?” Of course Julia wouldn’t let her off the hook.

Beatrice sighed, leaning back in the chair. She tilted her head back, staring at the intricate molding on the ceiling. “And I don’t know if I want Teddy talking to them either. If anyone is talking to them then it _should_ be me. I’m the queen.” She crossed her arms, tilting her head back down. “I know that seems contradictory,” she said.

Julia shrugged. “Our emotions often are. Tell me why you left the ballroom.”

Beatrice started picking at the hole in her jeans. It had appeared naturally over the years. She’d had this pair since early high school. “I needed some air.”

“Why?”

“I was mad at…” she trailed off, “a few people, I guess. My mom, Teddy, Teddy’s father, Carnegie.”

“Why?”

Beatrice huffed. “I guess I just felt like everyone was conspiring to…” she trailed off again. “There’s this pipeline,” she looked up at Julia, who nodded in recognition, “and I really don’t think it’s a good idea, but my father was in support of it and so everyone just assumes that _I_ will support it.”

“And you don’t?” Julia asked. Beatrice shook her head. “Forgive me, I’m not well-versed in how the legislative process works. You have the final say, right?”

“Well, not exactly.” Beatrice sat up a little straighter. “Dalton needs congressional approval, since it’s going through multiple states. They need permits, they need environmental review. Not to mention they need to be able to actually obtain the easements. Eminent domain won’t cut it for a private company. I could veto it in the end, but Dalton has enough money to lobby the Senate for a supermajority to override.” 

Julia watched her as she spoke. Beatrice realized that she’d been gesturing with her hands, which she tended to do when she explained things. She’d knocked over a pitcher of water the other day when she was describing the current state of the conflict in Kashmir to Ben. Her etiquette teacher used to tie her arms down with a rope. He’d have a conniption if he saw her now. This made Beatrice smile slightly, although she didn’t know why.

“What do Teddy or his father have to do with that? Or your mother?”

“They don’t have anything to do with it,” Beatrice answered, her snippy tone returning. “That’s why I was annoyed.”

“So you were annoyed that they were voicing their opinions?” Julia asked.

“They weren’t voicing their _opinions_ ,” Beatrice said. “My mother doesn’t care about a pipeline one way or the other. Who knows what Teddy thinks,” she flapped her hand, “Teddy’s father just thinks he can make money off of it.” She took a breath. “They were trying to set up a meeting for me with Carnegie.” To be fair, Teddy hadn’t actually done anything as far as she knew. It didn’t sound like he’d said anything to deter his father from making promises to Carnegie, but should she expect him to go against his father like that? Especially publicly? She shook her head. “Like I said, I just needed a minute.”

Beatrice squirmed under Julia’s stare. “What happened in the pantry?” Julia asked.

“I found out that my mother stopped my wedding china from being donated,” Beatrice said, hoping that would be the end of the discussion.

It wasn’t. “And this upset you?”

“Yes.” More picking at the hole at her knee.

“Why?”

Beatrice rolled her eyes. “Because I’d asked for it to be donated.”

“Why did it upset you that it hadn’t been? Correct me if I’m wrong, but you are still dating the man that you were supposed to be marrying, right? So why get rid of the china?”

Beatrice leaned back forcefully, banging her head slightly on the back of the armchair. “Because.” She realized that was an immature response. Thinking about it for a moment, she tried to come up with a better explanation. “Our engagement only lasted a couple of months. I didn’t even really get to make any of the decisions.” _Including the decision about who you were marrying_ , a small voice whispered in the back of her mind. She ignored it.

“So you felt like your mother was ignoring your wishes?”

Beatrice nodded.

“Why did that make you want to smash it?”

“I don’t know. I was drunk.”

“Beatrice,” Julia’s voice was soft, “why did you smash your wedding china?”

She stared at a spot above Julia’s head. She shrugged. “I was mad, I guess.” She didn’t look at Julia when she said this.

“Were you?” Julia asked.

Beatrice stood, feeling too antsy this time to stay sitting. “Why else would someone throw a bunch of plates at a wall?” She started pacing behind the chair she’d been sitting in. The walls in the room were covered in paintings of various ancestors, all staring at her with the same mildly smug expression. She’d always hated these portraits. 

She stopped in front of the portrait of King Edward as a young man. “I guess I felt like if I destroyed the china then my mom couldn’t make me use it,” she said finally. “Maybe?” she turned back toward Julia. “I really don’t remember it that well.” 

Julia nodded. Beatrice was pretty sure she hadn’t moved once during this whole session. Her right leg stayed crossed over her left, one hand resting lightly on the armrest. “What about the china specifically set you off, Beatrice?”

Beatrice kicked at the leg of the chair with the toe of her shoe. “I really don’t know —”

Julia cut her off. “Yes, you do.”

Beatrice crossed her arms, grabbing her elbows. “No. I really don’t. I don’t remember.”

Julia watched her for another moment, then glanced down at her watch. 

“Alright. I think that might be enough for today.”

Beatrice scoffed. “What? I’ve run out of my hour?”

“Beatrice, this isn’t something that is going to happen in a single session,” Julia said softly. “I believe you that you aren’t ready to talk about what happened on Christmas. You will be eventually. Trying to drag it out of you right this second won’t do you any good. For now, I think that’s enough for one day.”

“It’s going to take a while for you to figure out what’s wrong with me, is that it?”

Julia chuckled slightly as she stood. “Nothing is wrong with you, Beatrice. Have a good time in Telluride. Don’t cut yourself on any dishes.” She looked meaningfully at the bandages still on Beatrice’s hands, then strode out the door to where one of the queen’s Guards would lead her out of the Palace.

Beatrice stayed several minutes longer, glaring at her ancestors’ smug faces. 

Emerging from the sitting room, she was surprised to see Mike halfway down the hall. “What are you doing way over here?” she asked. 

“Even I have boundaries, kid. I’m not going to eavesdrop on your therapy session.” 

Beatrice snorted. “So you’ll just eavesdrop on all of my other meetings?” 

He fell into step beside her. “For security purposes only, of course.” 

“Of course.”

She turned to head for her suite. “You haven’t eaten since this morning,” Mike said. 

“It’s really great when you treat me like a toddler,” Beatrice said. Despite this, she turned toward the stairs. “If I eat will you leave me alone?” 

Mike shrugged. 

Beatrice was halfway through a bowl of ramen, Sara and Lucy had taught her how to make it during a late night, when Lena appeared in the kitchens. She plopped down on a stool opposite Beatrice. 

“So how’d it go?” she asked, drumming her silver-painted nails on the stainless steel. She’d taken off her blazer, her silk tank top showing off her toned arms. Lena had been a competitive dancer when she was younger, and still kept up a strict workout routine. She’d beaten Sean in an arm wrestling contest yesterday to determine who had to go pick up takeout Chinese. 

Beatrice shrugged, reaching for the bottle of sriracha on the counter. “Okay I think?” 

“Did you like her at least?” 

“Yeah, she was alright.”

Lena watched as she doused the noodles in more hot sauce. “You truly have the diet of a thirteen-year-old boy,” she said. “Did you actually talk?”

“ _Yes_ , Lena. Words and everything,” Beatrice said around a bite. A decidedly un-regal thing to talk with her mouth full, but Beatrice found herself once again not caring. 

Lena watched her chew. “Did you do your queen thing where you say a bunch of words without actually _saying_ anything?” 

“I said things!” she insisted, some egg flying out of her mouth.

Lena held up her hands. “I believe you. Are you going to meet with her again?”

Beatrice nodded. “Next week. When I get back from Telluride.” She noted Lena’s suppressed eye roll. Lena thought the Washingtons’ multiple residences to be a ridiculous and out-of-touch extravagance. She’d told Beatrice that the Telluride residence wasn’t the worst offense. She was much more irritated by the country house, which even Beatrice could admit was a little redundant. It was only about a two-hour drive from the Palace. 

“Why are you still here, anyway? Were we not done with work?” Beatrice asked.

Lena cocked her head, a bemused look on her face. “Did you think I wouldn’t wait to see how it went?” 

“You didn’t have to,” Beatrice mumbled into another bite of noodles. “I’m sure Mike would have blocked the exit if I’d tried to escape.”

“That isn’t why I stayed, and you know it,” Lena said, standing up off her stool. Her heels clicked on the tile floor. “Finish your frat boy dinner and then go get some sleep. You’ve got a long day tomorrow.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Friday - New Year’s Eve**

“Your Majesty! Your Majesty, over here!” 

“Your Majesty, can I have your autograph?”

“Where’s Teddy, Your Majesty?”

“When are we going to hear wedding bells?” 

Beatrice cringed inwardly, hoping her face didn’t give away her irritation at the questions from the press and the rope line. She was on the tarmac at Andrews, preparing to board Eagle V to head to Telluride. She proceeded to wave as she turned to walk toward the plane, flashbulbs popping in quick succession. 

“Her Majesty is on a very tight schedule today, Harold. She isn’t taking any questions,” Lucy said to the reporter who’d yelled that last probing inquiry. _Thank god for press secretaries_. 

“Admiral Oliver is going to call you in an hour or so,” Lena said as she walked next to the queen. They’d both been up since four that morning. An American military transport plane had been shot down over the Black Sea. Beatrice’s advisors were still coming up with scenarios for a response. 

“Maybe I shouldn’t go,” Beatrice said, careful to keep her head turned away from the crowd. The press was not above lip-reading. 

Lena shook her head. “There’s nothing you can do from here that you can’t do from there. And it’ll tip everyone off if you skip the New Year’s Eve party. It’s a big deal for you people.”

Beatrice snorted. “Unfortunately.” 

She turned back toward the crowd, waving a final time before ascending the stairs to the cabin door. Her red coat dress wasn’t quite thick enough to keep out the chill, and she suppressed a shiver. Her matching red leather gloves covered up the bandages she still had on her hands. Given the location of the injuries, she kept reopening several of the gashes. 

After turning to wave one more time at the top of the stairs, she ducked into the 747 aircraft. Beatrice still wasn’t quite used to being back on Eagle V. Before her father’s death, it had been years since she’d been onboard the Crown’s larger plane. As the next in line, she hadn’t traveled with her father since she was twelve. 

Since she was flying back Monday morning, her staff was staying behind in Washington for this trip. It’d be a weekend of full-on family time, which Beatrice wasn’t entirely sure she was looking forward to. 

“Morning, Colonel,” she said into the phone on the wall just inside the door. “I’m all set,” she told the cockpit. 

Beatrice plopped down into one of the forward-facing seats at the front of the plane. She chuckled slightly at Mike, who was gripping the armrests of his own seat next to her. “How have you been a Guard for fifteen years and still not be used to flying?” she asked. 

“I’m used to flying,” he said through gritted teeth. “It’s taking off that’s the problem.”

“Good thing Lucy isn’t coming on this trip,” Beatrice said, glancing sideways at her Guard. “Can’t have her see you being such a scaredy-cat.”

He glared at her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Beatrice made eye contact with Gina, who was sitting in one of the inward-facing seats lining the outer edge of the plane. They both grinned. Even Beatrice, who was admittedly very bad at noticing such things, could tell there was _something_ in the looks her chief Guard and press secretary gave each other. She’d get it out of him eventually. 

The flight was relatively uneventful. Admiral Oliver called to fill her in on the latest developments regarding the downed plane. The State Department was still working through diplomatic channels to try to nail down the culprits. Defense was coming up with response scenarios, but wouldn’t have anything for her to approve until the next day. 

Snow was falling wildly when they landed in Montrose. Eagle V was too large of a plane to land at the smaller Telluride regional airport. The snow was fine by Beatrice, since it meant that the press couldn’t gather to watch her disembark from the jet. She’d changed on the plane, now bundled up in her ski parka and jeans, pulling a crimson bauble hat over her hair as she hopped down the stairs. 

As she approached one of the black SUVs waiting on the tarmac, she was surprised by a set of car keys dangling in front of her face. 

“Really?” she turned to Mike, her eyes going wide, her voice high with excitement. 

“Consider it a belated Christmas present,” he said. 

Beatrice grabbed the keys, running around the hood of the car to jump into the driver’s seat. She never got to drive. 

“ _Slow_ , kid. No daredevil stunts,” Mike said as he got into the passenger seat. Colin got into the backseat while Jake, Petey, and Gina got into the lead and follow cars. 

Beatrice smiled as she adjusted the side mirrors. “When have I ever been a daredevil?” she laughed. 

“Just don’t start now.”

In good weather it was about an hour drive to the Washingtons’ winter lodge, and with the snow it would be even longer. Beatrice planned to make the best of it. She revved the engine of the SUV, cackling at Mike’s surly face. She loved driving, especially in the falling snow. The flakes blowing past the windshield reminded her of riding Space Mountain as a child. Her mother had thought she was too young to ride a rollercoaster, but her dad had looked at Beatrice’s crest-fallen face and announced that she was plenty old enough. A memory of her father hit her. _We’ve got a wild one here, Addy_ she remembered him laughing when she’d asked if they could go again. Beatrice couldn’t even be sure she was remembering that correctly. She couldn’t remember ever feeling all that wild.

“If you do a donut in this car I will never let you drive again,” Mike said as she peeled out of the airport driveway. 

The sun had long since set by the time the caravan pulled up to the house. Beatrice could tell even from the outside that the house was abuzz with activity. Glancing at the clock, she hoped that she’d have enough time to grab something to eat before being dragged off to the New Year’s Eve party. 

“Do I get to drive to the party?” she asked as she got out of the car. 

“Absolutely not,” Mike said. “Too many drunk drivers on the road later tonight.” Beatrice huffed, handing the keys back to him. 

“You drove?” a voice said from behind her. “They never let me drive anymore.”

“That’s because _you_ are from Boston and therefore shouldn’t be trusted near a motor vehicle,” Mike said, low enough that only Beatrice could hear. She snorted. 

“I got a reward for good behavior,” she said to Teddy as she walked up the steps to the wide front porch. He cocked his head slightly. “It’s a joke, Teddy,” she said, kissing him quickly hello. She’d called him on Monday to apologize for leaving the ball without saying anything. He’d sounded a little hurt at first, but she had done a good enough job convincing him that a migraine had come on suddenly that he seemed fine now. 

Teddy looked behind her, back toward the car. “You didn’t bring Franklin?”

Beatrice shook her head. “Too quick of a trip. Chloe’s dog-sitting. Well, I guess technically Ben is dog-sitting,” she laughed, reaching up to push a falling lock of hair off his forehead. She couldn’t be sure, but his eyes seemed to narrow slightly in confusion. 

“Beatrice!” An athletic blonde appeared in the doorway, her eyes the same dark blue as her brothers’. 

“Oh! Hello, Charlotte,” Beatrice said. “I didn’t know you were here,” she added, glancing at Teddy. He looked a little chagrined. 

“Sorry,” he said. “Your mom invited my whole family. I didn’t know until this morning.” Beatrice got along fine with Teddy’s siblings, but the addition of guests without her knowledge sent a burst of irritation through her. She pasted on a smile and went to hug Charlotte hello. 

Teddy’s younger sister always gave crushing hugs. Beatrice had always felt like Charlotte was trying to prove her sporting prowess by squeezing the air out of her. 

“So the boys are here too, then?” Beatrice turned back to Teddy. 

He nodded. “They spent the day skiing with your brother. Last I checked, they were pregaming the party in the kitchen.” That was precisely what Beatrice had been afraid of. Lewis and Livingston got along a little _too_ well with Jeff. They weren’t the best influences. 

“Your Majesty, if you’re going to eat before tonight then you should do so soon,” Mike said. He’d been standing on the lower step of the porch, watching the scene with the scowl he reserved specially for the Eatons. 

“Okay, _Mom_ ,” Beatrice rolled her eyes at him, in a perfect imitation of the moody teenager she’d never really gotten to be. While her Guards dispersed to walk the grounds and get settled into their rooms, Beatrice headed toward the kitchen. She kissed her brother on the head as she walked past the stool he was sitting on. 

“The prodigal daughter arrives,” Jeff said as he took a swig of the beer in front of him. Beatrice stuck her tongue out at him before turning back to the fridge. “We saved you some spaghetti.”

“Thanks, Peanut.” 

She’d gone to shed her winter outerwear on one of the stools before realizing her error. Of the people in the house, only Samantha and Beatrice’s Guards knew about the cuts on her hands. They were still bandaged. Beatrice settled on pulling the sleeves of her blue cable knit sweater down so that her hands were covered to the fingertips. 

A loud thump sounded from the floor above them as Beatrice watched her bowl of pasta turn in the microwave.

Teddy groaned. He and Charlotte had followed her into the kitchen. “Go see if they broke anything,” he said to his sister. 

“Why do I always have to babysit?” Charlotte grumbled as she headed for the stairs. 

“Why are you so late anyway?” Jeff asked Beatrice, taking another swig of his drink. 

“Me?” Beatrice said as she popped the microwave door open. “I had to push back some meetings this morning,” she hedged. Jeff had security clearance, but Teddy was in the room. “Oliver gave me an early morning wake up call,” she settled on. 

Jeff nodded, seemingly uninterested in further details. “You missed some serious powder today.”

Beatrice had never actually liked skiing all that much. She figured it might have been more fun if she didn’t have to spend the entire time worried about how she looked through a camera lens. She took a bite of spaghetti, trying to push that bitterness down. It would do her no good.

“Sorry I missed it,” she said. “It’s still coming down out there though.” 

“Yeah, they’re gonna have to do some major avalanche prevention,” Jeff said, turning to look out the large floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room behind him, up toward the ski runs. 

“You’re staying on the manicured runs, right?” Beatrice gave him a hard look over her dinner.

Jeff rolled his eyes. “Yes, you worry wart. I have my beacon and everything.”

“Do you _wear_ your beacon?” 

“ _Yes_ , Beatrice,” he took a final swig of beer, tossing the bottle in an arc toward the recycling bin. It landed with a _clink_. Checking the bin, Beatrice noted that it was already mostly full. She raised an eyebrow. “It wasn’t all me!” Jeff insisted.

“Lewis and Livingston did contribute to that pile,” Teddy backed him up. Teddy had been silently watching the siblings bicker. Beatrice had almost forgotten he was sitting at the other end of the kitchen island. “Davis got here this morning too.”

“What’d I do?” Marshall came thumping down the back stairs. He yanked lightly on a chunk of Beatrice’s hair in greeting. “Sam needs you. Some kind of fashion emergency.”

“She wants me?” Beatrice asked, a little shocked. “Is Nina not here yet?”

Marshall opened the fridge, handing a beer to Beatrice before grabbing one for himself. Beatrice had made the relatively recent discovery, with Marshall’s help, that she actually didn’t dislike _all_ beer. “You just don’t like cheap beer,” Marshall had joked when he’d made her try a variety of selections from breweries in Orange. “None of that East Coast swill.” It was Marshall’s singular mission in life to get the Washington siblings to admit that the West Coast was the better region of the country.

“Nina’s here,” Jeff answered quietly. Marshall and Beatrice exchanged knowing glances.

“What he said,” Marshall handed Beatrice the bottle opener. Popping the cap off, Beatrice turned to grab her half-eaten pasta to bring with her upstairs. If she was going to help with fashion advice, she needed to be properly fed. Feeling eyes on her, she looked up to find Teddy watching her, his brow furrowed slightly. He quickly smiled when he noticed her looking at him. Shaking her head, she headed for the stairs, beer and spaghetti in hand, to go diffuse whatever crisis Sam was having.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beatrice is truly a nightmare when it comes to thinking critically about basically anything. i get it! feelings are scary! naming them is even worse! 
> 
> re: her drinking beer - not to be a snooty californian, but i doubt the eatons had a good selection lol. bee's young, and beer is an acquired taste, so i've made the executive decision that she just hadn't tried one she liked yet, rather than hating all beer.
> 
> hope everyone had a safe and happy thanksgiving (or just a regular thursday)! thanks for reading!!!


	14. Chapter 14

_I could've spent forever with your hands in my pockets_

_picture of your face in an invisible locket_

_you said there was nothing in the world that could stop it_

_I had a bad feeling_

_dancing with our hands tied – taylor swift_

“Would you stop fidgeting?” Sam said, her voice gravelly. “You look awesome.” 

Nina pulled at the bottom hem of her dress again. Sam had convinced her to borrow one of hers. It was tight and short, and covered in oil slick sequins. It had short sleeves, but the plunging neckline meant it was anything but conservative. The lights of the club made her flash green and purple and black. Nina flicked her hair off of her shoulder where it had caught around one of the metallic discs. 

“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” Nina asked as Sam sniffled again. “You don’t look so hot.”

“Gee, thanks,” Sam laughed. She’d been flushed all day, and was starting to sound congested. 

“I’m sure what Nina means, buttercup,” Marshall said as he came up behind them, “is that you look absolutely ravishing, but also like you might be dying.” He kissed her forehead, pulling back quickly. “Seriously, Sam, you’re burning up.” 

Sam leaned her head into Marshall’s chest. “I swear I’m fine!” she groaned. “I can make it until midnight.”

Marshall looked at Nina. She shook her head. Midnight wasn’t for another hour or so, and judging by the glaze over Sam’s eyes, she’d be passed out by then. 

“Come on, babe,” Marshall wrapped an arm around Sam’s shoulders, “let’s get you to bed.”

“I’ll come with you guys —”

“No!” Sam cut Nina off, her face still planted in her boyfriend’s chest. “You stay! Have fun! You can ride home with Bee. She’ll probably want to leave pretty soon after midnight anyway.” 

“You guys are the only people I know here,” Nina grumbled. 

“That’s not true and you know it,” Sam croaked, pulling back from Marshall slightly to sneeze into her elbow. “Besides, my sister might need saving. She’s making that face again like she’s considering jumping out of the nearest window.” 

Nina turned to look for the queen. Sure enough, Beatrice was staring off into the distance from her spot near the large fireplace, an old fashioned poised halfway to her lips. A smile was plastered on her face, but Nina could tell Beatrice wasn’t really listening to the man who was talking to her. 

“See?” Sam said. “I ditched her at Christmas, I can’t leave her without an escape route.” 

“I wouldn’t even know how to go about rescuing her,” Nina argued. 

Marshall chuckled. “Just physically drag her away when she starts looking like she’s going to stab herself with a straw.” 

Nina raised an eyebrow. “How am I supposed to know what that looks like?” She didn’t know Beatrice _that_ well. 

“You’ll know,” Sam sneezed again. “Trust me.”

Nina watched as Marshall half-carried Sam toward the front door of the club. Deciding she needed some liquid courage to handle the royals’ New Year’s Eve alone, she headed for the bar. 

“Can I have a gin and tonic, please?” she asked when the bartender looked over at her. She thought gin kind of tasted like Christmas trees, but it was the only drink she didn’t feel like a total idiot ordering. She thanked the bartender, taking a long sip. 

“You look nice tonight.” Nina jumped, feeling a bit of her drink snort out of her nose. 

“Sorry!” Jeff laughed. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” He grabbed a napkin off the bar, handing it to her. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Nina said, dabbing at her face. “I guess I was spacing out.” 

Jeff leaned an elbow on the bar next to her. “That doesn’t sound like you,” he grinned. “Penny for your thoughts?” 

Nina shrugged. “Nothing, really. Sam wasn’t feeling well, so she left me on Beatrice Watch.” 

Jeff turned his head, surveying the room. Nina hadn’t been to many clubs in her life, but she had always liked Smuggler’s. The wood paneling and large fireplace gave the place an oddly homey feeling, despite the packed bodies and darkened interior. 

“She seems alright to me,” Jeff nodded toward his sister. “Teddy’s with her.” 

Nina looked over. Sure enough, the queen’s boyfriend had joined her. She watched Beatrice smile at something Teddy had said. It looked natural enough, Nina thought. 

“I didn’t know Sam wasn’t feeling well,” Jeff said. Turning back to him, Nina thought she saw a bit of sadness in Jeff’s eyes. 

“She was hiding it pretty well,” Nina assured. “She was trying to stick it out until midnight.” 

At this, Jeff smiled. “We used to love New Year’s Eve. All of us,” he nodded his head back toward his eldest sister, “Dad would let us stay up to watch the fireworks. He always said it was a time to ‘take stock of your life and see where you can make improvements.’” 

Nina watched him for a moment, the dim lights of the club amplifying his dark features. “You must miss him,” she said. 

Jeff nodded minutely. “I do.” A look passed over his face. He turned to the bartender. “Old Rip Van Winkle. The twenty three. Neat.” 

“Since when do you drink expensive whiskey?” Nina asked. Jeff’s taste in booze had always veered more toward the frat party variety. 

“Expensive _bourbon_ , Nina,” he mock-scolded, his eyes glowing with mirth. “Make that two,” he said to the bartender. “It was Dad’s favorite,” he explained, turning back to Nina, reaching for the two lowball glasses the bartender had placed in front of him. He slid one toward her. 

She shook her head. “I’m really not good at hard alcohol.” 

“You don’t have to drink it all,” Jeff smiled. “Toast my dad with me.” His eyes were searching. For what, Nina didn’t know. 

She hesitated. “You know, your sister might actually want to…” She nodded back toward Beatrice, who was after all sipping a bourbon-based drink. 

Jeff shook his head. “She doesn’t like to talk about Dad. She leaves the room whenever anyone talks about him too much. Thinks nobody notices.” 

Nina reached without thinking, placing her hand on Jeff’s wrist that rested on the bar top. “She might be waiting for someone to notice.” 

Jeff looked down at her hand. Before she could pull it back, he’d put his other hand on top of hers, trapping it against his arm. His hand was very warm. The moment stretched around them, the music and the crowd seeming to fade away as they looked at each other. Nina noticed the shadow along Jeff’s jaw, her eyes drifting down his neck to the open top buttons of his shirt. She felt his own gaze on her like a caress, warmth spreading from their joined hands through the rest of her body. 

Nina snapped out of the trance first. She pulled her hand back, reaching for the glass. 

“Your dad,” she said, lifting it toward him. Jeff grinned, grabbing his own. The glasses clinked together as they cheered to the late king. 

Nina tried to contain her grimace as the bourbon slipped past her tongue and down her throat. It burned as it went down, warming her insides almost as much as Jeff’s gaze had. 

He laughed, throwing his head back. She’d always loved his laugh. It seemed to take over his whole body, and she felt an annoying flutter in her belly at being the one to bring it out of him. “You don’t have to finish it,” he said again, reaching to pluck the glass from her hand. 

“Sorry,” she said, grabbing her own cocktail and taking a long sip. “I guess I don’t have the right palate for expensive whiskey.” She froze as Jeff’s hand lifted to her face, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. 

He shook his head slightly and grabbed his bourbon off the bar, leaning his back against the wooden top. “So how’s school going? You hear back from any of those internships yet?”

Nina looked up in surprise, knocking the cocktail straw out of her drink with her chin. Droplets of gin and tonic water flipped up onto her face. She hoped Jeff didn’t notice. “You know about my internship applications?” 

Jeff turned his head to look at her, his eyes narrowing playfully. “I have spies everywhere.” 

Nina snorted. “Yeah, I’m sure your twin sister being my best friend has nothing to do with it.” 

Jeff reached over the bar behind him, grabbing a straw out of a mason jar. He plunked it into her drink with a wink. 

“Marshall told me about what you did for Beatrice last semester,” he said. “I’m sorry you lost your staff spot. Your article about the cafeteria staff union was really good.” 

She almost dropped her drink entirely. “You read that article?” 

“I read all your articles,” he said quietly, taking another sip of bourbon. He looked at her again, holding her gaze. “You’re a great writer, Nina.” 

She felt her eyes grow hot. After they’d broken up, and Nina had sort-of dated Ethan, and Jeff had officially gotten back together with Daphne, she had just assumed that Jeff had forgotten all about her. This was the longest conversation they’d had in over a year. It was one thing for Sam to tell him about her internships, but he’d read her articles? _All_ of them? And he’d _liked_ them? Jeff had his faults, but he didn’t give false compliments. He always meant what he said. 

She turned away from him slightly, taking a gulp of her cocktail to avoid actually crying. She swallowed heavily, looking back at him. “Thank you, Jeff. That means a lot.” 

He shrugged, still looking at her. “It’s the truth. Any of those internships would be lucky to have you.” 

She nodded, not quite sure she agreed with him, but appreciating the words nonetheless. 

“Why didn’t you start school?” she asked, remembering something Ethan had said a couple months ago. “I know Sam was too busy with —”

“Can we not talk about that?” he asked. “It’s all my mother talks to me about these days. ‘Jeff, we can make a call and have you in anywhere,’” he mimicked in a high pitched voice. “As though that is going to convince me,” he laughed drily. 

“I was just curious, Jeff,” she said softly. 

He looked over at her suddenly, seeming startled. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to take that out on you.” He shook his head, sipping at his bourbon. 

“It’s okay.”

He shook his head again. “It really isn’t,” he sighed. 

“There’s a lot of pressure on you guys,” Nina said, referring to all three of them. “It must be hard, not getting to make decisions about your future that are truly _yours_.”

His eyes found hers. She shifted on her heels under his stare. He opened his mouth, looking as though he was going to say something, when a voice came from behind Nina. 

“Jeff,” Teddy appeared beside her, “have you seen the queen?” 

Nina had always thought it was weird that Teddy referred to his girlfriend by her title, even to her own family. She’d watched Sam’s face tighten more than once because of it. 

“My sister?” Jeff clarified, catching Nina’s eye again. Maybe Sam wasn’t the only Washington sibling to find the habit odd. “I thought she was with you.”

Teddy shook his head. “I thought she’d be right back, but…”

Nina stopped listening as something vibrated against her chest. She’d completely forgotten about Sam’s phone. Sam’s dress had been backless, leaving her without the ability to shove her phone into her bra, so she’d stuck it in Nina’s instead. 

Pulling the phone out, she saw a text from Marshall’s phone. She looked back up at Jeff, gesturing discreetly down at the phone in her hand. Smuggler’s had a strict policy against mobile devices. 

“This is probably your sister,” she said, “I’m just gonna…” she motioned toward the hallway where the restrooms were located. 

Jeff nodded. “Tell her I have some of those good throat lozenges that are only legal in Mexico in my room.”

Nina snorted. Of course he did. She turned away from the bar, waving at Jeff and Teddy as she left. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“And that’s why we need to increase the tax incentives for companies that keep their production on American soil…” Beatrice continued to nod every few seconds, having long since tuned out anything Morgan Keith was saying. She wanted to down her drink, but knew that she really shouldn’t over-indulge, especially not twice in one week. Her Guards would probably quit.

“Exactly what I’ve been saying,” Thomas Eaton’s booming voice came from somewhere in the crowd around them. The man himself appeared a few seconds later, coming to stand next to Keith. Keith had inherited the largest American manufacturer of computer chips from his grandfather. 

“Don’t you agree, Your Majesty?” the Duke looked at her. 

Beatrice hummed noncommittally, knowing it was futile to try and have a substantive conversation about economic policies at Smuggler’s. “Definitely, increase subsidies,” she said into her drink. She had no intention of doing such a thing, tax incentives were already incredibly high for corporations in the country, but Eaton didn’t need to know that. 

“Dad, I really don’t think Her Majesty wants to be talking about tax policy at her own New Year’s Eve party.” Beatrice felt Teddy’s hand land on her lower back. She turned her head to give him a small smile. 

Thomas guffawed slightly. “Well, when else am I supposed to catch her? She never visits Boston anymore!” His tone was playful, but Beatrice could tell from his face that there was a hint at real irritation underneath. It was true that Beatrice hadn’t been to Walthorpe in months, but she didn’t really see what that had to do with the Duke. 

“You can always make an appointment with my office, Thomas,” she said, taking a small sip through her cocktail straw. “My scheduling secretary would be happy to find some time for you, I’m sure.” 

“Scheduling secretary!” He cuffed Keith on the shoulder. “Can you believe this? My own future daughter-in-law, making me go through the help to talk to her!”

Beatrice bristled, merely humming in response. _The help?_ she thought angrily. But she knew now wasn’t the time or place to get into it with the Duke, no matter how rude he was being. 

Eaton gestured toward the far side of the room. “Keith, I see Victor James over by the bar. Let me introduce you.” The two older men left quickly. Beatrice clenched her jaw, watching them scurry away. 

Teddy’s hand stroked up her spine. “Sorry,” he said quietly, “he shouldn’t talk about your staff that way.” 

“Tell _him_ that,” Beatrice snapped. 

She must have been squeezing her glass harder than she’d realized, because it suddenly slipped out of her hand. She was wearing a pair of black silk opera gloves, borrowed from Sam, which were now soaked through with condensation and bourbon and bits of orange. 

Teddy had caught the glass before it clattered to the floor, but not before the remainder of the drink had spilled down the front of Beatrice’s dress. He straightened up, his eyes searching her face. In her heels, she wasn’t that much shorter than he was. “Are you okay?”

She swiped at her dress with her hands, before realizing she was just making the spot worse. Teddy gently wrapped his hand around one of her wrists. “Bee?” he asked again when she didn’t answer him. 

She took a deep breath, trying to calm down. Her vision had started to blur again, to her great irritation. _I barely even drank tonight_ , she thought angrily. She closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose with the hand that Teddy wasn’t holding on to. 

“I’m fine,” she said, opening her eyes and trying to muster a smile. She gently pulled her wrist out of his grip. “I’m going to go deal with this,” she gestured down at the wet spot on her dress. 

Quickly retreating down the hallway to the left of the bar, she ducked into the restroom. In true upper crust fashion, the bathrooms at Smugglers were nothing like your typical nightclub. Not that Beatrice had been in any other clubs, but she imagined they didn’t look like this one. There was a lounge just inside the door, with large gray upholstered couches and a full-length mirror for outfit checks. She stopped to examine the damage to her dress. It was silky and royal blue, held up by thin straps before draping down her body and falling in an asymmetrical hem around her knees. Bourbon had splashed down her right side, the liquid darkening a long stripe from her ribs and down her hip. There probably wasn’t a whole lot she could do about that. 

She walked into the bathroom, briefly checking the stall doors. Fortunately for Beatrice, they all stood open. It appeared she was alone for at least a moment. She pulled off her gloves, placing them on the marble countertop, before reaching up to pull the pins out of her hair. She flipped her head upside down, running her hands through the dark mass of hair. 

_That’s better_ , she thought as looked back in the mirror above the sink. She hated having her hair up. She always felt like it made her look too severe, but her mother liked to point out that she looked young when her hair was down. Looking at her reflection, she smiled a bit at her sudden resemblance to her sister. Beatrice never wore her hair so undone, and her makeup had smudged, smoking her eyes in shades of brown and gold.

Beatrice hissed slightly as she leaned her hands on the countertop. Checking her right hand, she saw that the bandage had slipped, the adhesive coming undone in the moisture from her drink. The gash running from the webspace between her thumb and index finger toward the center of her palm had split open again. 

She unraveled the gauze, running her hand under the faucet for a moment. She pressed a paper towel into her palm, clenching her fingers into a fist to keep it in place. Her gloves were still soaked, and the prospect of putting them back on was not appealing. The other option was to let Teddy see her bandages though, and she didn’t have an excuse for what she’d done to her hands. There was no way she was telling him the _truth_. 

Beatrice heard the outer door to the restroom open. Glancing down at her palm, she grabbed her gloves off the counter and quickly ducked into a stall, closing the door behind her quietly. Beatrice found herself praising whoever had installed the floor-length wooden doors on the stalls.

“I don’t understand why, after almost two years, he is _still_ talking to _her_ ,” a cold voice said. It sounded vaguely familiar, but not enough for Beatrice to place it. “What exactly have you been doing all this time?”

“They’re just talking, Mom. She isn’t a problem.” That voice Beatrice did recognize. _Daphne Deighton_. And here her temper had been waning. 

“You should have been engaged by now,” Daphne’s mother said. Beatrice thought her name might be Rebecca, but she couldn’t be sure. She was sure, however, that they were talking about her brother. 

“Jefferson hasn’t been himself lately,” Daphne replied softly. 

Rebecca scoffed. “Men are never themselves.” Then, a beat later, “Are you putting out enough?”

Beatrice startled, nearly dropping her gloves. A surprising surge of anger on Daphne’s behalf went through her. What kind of mother speaks to her child that way? Plus, she did not in any way want to hear about her little brother’s sex life. 

“I’ll handle it, Mom. Don’t worry.” 

Beatrice heard a click, like that of a clutch being snapped closed. “See that you do. After everything we’ve done for you, you owe us that much.” The sound of high heels retreating echoed through the room. 

Beatrice listened, her ear angled toward the crack between the wood door and the panel. Daphne clearly hadn’t left. She could hear her slightly labored breathing. Without thinking, Beatrice swung the stall door open. 

“What do you mean, ‘you’ll handle it?’” she asked. Daphne was standing at the sink directly in front of her. She looked up in surprise, wiping her hands quickly under her eyes as she met the queen’s gaze in the mirror. 

“Your Majesty!” she exclaimed. “I didn’t realize you were in here, I’m sorry. I’ll just —”

“Oh, no you don’t,” Beatrice headed her off, blocking Daphne’s way out of the bathroom. “You’re going to tell me what exactly you’re doing with my brother.” She of course hadn’t trusted Daphne since her little blackmailing attempt over a year ago, but Beatrice hadn’t thought that Jeff was a piece of her scheming. Her hand tightened on the door jamb. 

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” Daphne said, her spine straightening. 

Beatrice felt her temper flare again, her voice icy. “You seem to be under the impression, Ms. Deighton, that you are simply speaking to your boyfriend’s sister. Let me remind you that you are not.” 

Daphne took a step back, retreating into the bathroom. “There isn’t anything to tell. Jefferson and I are together,” she said, her back remaining ramrod straight, her voice clear. If she wasn’t quite so angry, Beatrice might be impressed.

“Do you even love him?” Beatrice asked. “Why are you with him?” her voice rising in defense of her brother. “To be a princess? You think that’s worth it?”

“ _You_ don’t get to judge me,” Daphne replied, her eyes and voice going steely. “Not for that.”

“Excuse me?”

Daphne took a step toward her. “I’m not the only one in this room who made a strategic decision regarding their love life.” 

“Strategic?” Beatrice was incredulous. “What are you talking about?”

Daphne scoffed. “You stand here acting all high and mighty. As though you didn’t choose the future Duke of Boston for political reasons, because your parents told you to.”

“How dare you?” Beatrice felt the skin on her hand break open again as she squeezed the wooden door jamb, but she didn’t trust herself not to lash out at Daphne if she let go. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I?” Daphne replied. Her face fell slightly. “We both have people we’d rather be with.”

“I love Teddy,” Beatrice said, perhaps a little too quickly.

Daphne gave a slow, sad smile. “And I love Jefferson,” she looked directly at Beatrice, “but I’m not _in love_ with him. And he isn’t in love with me.”

“Then why are you together?” Beatrice smacked the wall beside her, ignoring the other implication that Daphne was making. 

Daphne rolled her eyes. “I think you’re smart enough to figure that out on your own, Your Majesty.” 

Beatrice deflated slightly, pulling her hand away from the wall. Daphne turned toward the counter, grabbing a paper towel out of a golden basket. She reached forward, handing it to Beatrice. 

Beatrice took it without a word, pressing it into her palm. Daphne watched her do this, an unreadable expression on her face. 

“It looks like, for your sake, you should figure it out soon,” she said finally, still looking at Beatrice’s bleeding hand. 

“This was an accident,” Beatrice said, pulling her hand behind her back. 

Daphne nodded. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

Beatrice heard the door to the restroom open behind her. 

“There you are!” Nina said as she saw Beatrice. “What happened to your hand?”

Daphne took Beatrice’s distraction as an opportunity to slip out of the room, her filmy black midi skirt flaring out behind her as she fled past Nina.

“This conversation isn’t finished!” she called after Daphne’s retreating back. Beatrice turned toward Nina. “It’s nothing. I cut myself a week ago, it just reopened.”

She saw Nina glance at her other hand, noticing those bandages too. “Okay,” she said slowly, nodding. “Sam wasn’t feeling well, so Marshall took her back to the house.”

Beatrice chuckled slightly. “Let me guess, she asked you to keep an eye on me?”

Nina looked as though she might argue, but then she smiled. “Yeah,” she laughed, “she still feels bad about leaving you alone at the Queen’s Ball.”

Beatrice flopped down onto one of the couches lining the lounge room. Nina hesitated, shifting her weight on her feet.

“You can sit, Nina,” Beatrice laughed, “I don’t bite.” She had known Nina since they were both children, but she didn’t think they’d actually ever spent any time together without Sam. 

Nina lowered herself onto the opposite end of the couch. “Teddy was looking for you, I think. He came up to ask Jeff if he’d seen you.”

Beatrice leaned her head back onto the cushion behind her. “You’d think by now he’d know to just look for the large, grumpy, bearded man,” she sighed, “I’m really not that hard to locate.”

“You can be sneaky,” Nina said. Beatrice turned her head to look at her, raising an eyebrow. “Okay, I did see your Guards in the hall, I figured you were in here,” she admitted. Beatrice lifted her hand in a _See?_ gesture.

Beatrice heard someone outside announce that it was two minutes until midnight. “You can go, if you want,” she said to Nina.

“Are you not going to go do the countdown?” Nina asked, shifting in her seat to adjust her skirt. Beatrice thought she recognized the glitzy dress from Sam’s closet. 

Beatrice shrugged, her head still leaning on the couch. “I’m not feeling it this year.”

She felt Nina’s eyes on her for a moment. “Would you mind if I stayed in here with you?” she asked. “I don’t really know anyone else out there.”

Beatrice smiled. “Sure,” she answered, “although you could probably go make out with one of the stars of that werewolf show if you stood in the right spot at midnight.”

Nina let out a guffaw, sounding surprised at the queen’s joke. “As tempting as that is…” she trailed off, still laughing. “You do have someone to kiss at midnight, though,” Nina said after a moment.

Beatrice sighed. “It was really weird last year. People are voyeuristic.” That was true, if maybe not the whole reason why Beatrice felt like hiding in a restroom.

Nina shuddered. “I hadn’t thought about that. That would be weird.”

“At least they tend to stick to the ‘no phones’ rule in here,” Beatrice said. “That’d be just what I need. It’s hard to get a senator to take you seriously if he’s just seen a picture of you kissing your boyfriend on the front page at the newsstand.”

“People suck,” Nina said quietly. Beatrice suddenly remembered that Nina had intimate experience with exactly what she’d just described. She wondered if the Palace had offered Nina any protection during all of that. She hadn’t thought to ask.

“That they do,” she agreed.

The two women lapsed into silence. After another minute or so, loud cheers erupted outside. 

A sharp knock came from the door. Beatrice could barely hear it over the first lines of _Auld Lang Syne_ as it blasted from the speakers throughout the club. 

Mike stuck his head in. “Cool, you didn’t get murdered in here.” He tossed her coat at her, handing Nina’s over much more gently. “Come on, we’re going out the back. Photographers out the front, I don’t like it.”

Beatrice nodded, pulling her coat on as she stood. She was pleased to find a pair of wool gloves shoved in the pocket. “I do need to tell Teddy,” she said. “I can’t just leave again.”

Mike nodded, holding the door open for her. “Two minutes.”

Beatrice strode out the door, yanking the gloves down over her hands. She kept the paper towel shoved inside the right one, hoping the bleeding wouldn’t start again. 

She found her boyfriend relatively quickly, standing near the bar. He turned as she laid a hand on his shoulder blade. Taking in her coat and gloves, he leaned close to her ear. “You heading out?” 

She nodded. “I’ve had a long day,” she said, shouting slightly to be heard over the noise. 

Teddy put an arm around her as she was jostled slightly from behind. “Lewis,” he admonished his brother, “watch where you’re going.” 

“Sorry!” the younger Eaton boomed. “You can’t leave!” he added, spotting Beatrice in her coat. 

“Leave her alone,” Teddy replied. “Unlike you, she has an actual job.” She heard Lewis make a disgruntled noise. 

Beatrice patted his chest with her hand. “You can stay if you want,” she leaned toward his ear. “I’ll probably fall asleep before we even get back to the house.” 

“Teddy!” Livingston joined them. “Dan has Cuban cigars.”

“I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear that,” Beatrice said, rolling her eyes at Livingston’s confused look. There’d been an embargo on Cuban goods for half a century, but trust the Eaton boys not to know that, or care. 

Teddy pulled her tighter into his side. “My dad did want to introduce me to someone,” he said, leaning down, his nose grazing her temple. “I’ll walk you out.”

“Be right back,” he said to his brothers. She turned him gently toward the back of the club. 

“Where were you at midnight?” he asked as they walked down the hallway toward her Guards at the back door. 

Beatrice hadn’t actually expected him to ask about that. “Oh! I —”

“She was with me,” Nina said. Beatrice hadn’t seen her standing behind Petey. “This guy I’ve been seeing back at school posted an Insta story of him kissing another girl. I went into the bathroom to cry and ran into Beatrice. She stayed with me.” Nina made eye contact with her. 

Beatrice was a little impressed by Nina’s quick thinking, and more than a little touched that she’d fib for her. 

“Oh,” Teddy said. “I’m sorry, Nina. That guy’s an ass.” His arm was still around Beatrice’s back, and he turned into her slightly. “Are you sure you’re okay if I stay?”

She placed her hands on either side of his face. “ _Yes_ , Teddy. I’ve been awake for twenty-two hours now, we’re lucky I haven’t passed out as it is.” She kissed him quickly, stepping out of his embrace. “Go, make sure your brothers don’t get arrested for illegal imports.” 

He rolled his eyes at the boys. “I won’t be long,” he said, walking backwards away from her. 

“God, this guy cannot take a hint.” Beatrice heard Mike say under his breath. She gave a final wave to Teddy, before turning around to glare at her Guard.

“Be nice.”

“What?” he asked. “You said I couldn’t be mean _to_ him. You didn’t say anything about not being mean _about_ him,” he said as he opened the back door. Petey went through first, double checking the alleyway. A black SUV was idling right outside the door, Colin at the wheel. 

“I don’t know if that’s a distinction that would hold up in court,” Beatrice retorted, gesturing for Nina to get in first. She climbed in afterward, Mike following. Petey got in the front passenger seat, Colin pulling away before he even had the door fully shut. 

“Thanks for that back there,” she said, turning to Nina in the third row. 

“No problem,” she smiled. “I’ve had some practice coming up with quick excuses, being friends with your sister so long.”

Beatrice laughed. “I bet.” 

It was a relatively short drive from downtown Telluride up to the Washingtons’ lodge. Before Beatrice knew it, they were pulling through the gates, the large copper W splitting down the center as they swung open. 

She and Nina parted ways at the top of the stairs, their rooms on opposite ends of the second floor. Beatrice opened her bedroom door, shedding her coat and gloves. She kicked off her heeled sandals, grabbing them from the floor as she headed for the small closet. Last year, her mother had asked her if she wanted to switch into the master bedroom, as she was queen now. Beatrice had blanched, immediately shooting down that idea. The very thought of sleeping in her _parents’_ room had made her feel physically ill. 

She hung up her coat and placed her shoes carefully on one of the shelves to the right of the rack. She took a quick shower, barely staying awake long enough to brush her hair out before she fell into bed, a washcloth tied hastily around her palm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i did some rereading of american royals to make sure i had the characterization right and 1) it made me even more confused about the events in majesty and 2) reminded me how absolutely adorable nina and jeff are. we were robbed! 
> 
> also a shoutout to QueenIsabelle for reminding me of the beatrice/daphne showdown in majesty because it made me think about the parallels between those two and i have Thoughts. am i taking this supposed-to-be-a-soap-opera YA series too seriously? perhaps! but we're in a global pandemic so i'm going to continue to over-analyze all of these characters and their motivations because that is way more fun than anything that's happening in real life lol.
> 
> thanks for reading!!!


	15. Chapter 15

_much more scared than they all think_

_but I’m protecting this organ in my chest_

_‘cause the blood, sweat, and tears_

_they can make quite a mess_

_lone ranger – rachel platten_

_Beatrice was in her father’s study at the Palace. A fire raged in the fireplace, casting the room in a warm glow. She tried to step forward toward the desk, feeling dragged down by a weight around her feet. Glancing down, she saw the yards of cream brocade. Why was she always in her coronation gown? “Beatrice?” her father’s voice said, although she couldn’t see him. “Dad?” she called out. “Dad, where are you?” She turned in a circle, hindered by her heavy skirt. “Dad?” she called louder. An alarm blared. The crash alarm. Rushing to the wall behind the desk, she tried to get the sensor to take her handprint, but the alarm continued to blare..._

“Bee.” A hand shook her shoulder. “Beatrice, your phone.” 

She woke with a gasp. “Sorry, sorry,” Teddy said, his hand still on her shoulder. “Your phone is ringing.” He nodded toward the nightstand next to her. 

Glancing over, she saw that her phone was indeed ringing loudly. Unfortunately, it was her work phone. Groaning, she sat up and pulled it out of the charging port. Sure enough, the number of the Palace switchboard scrolled across the screen. She stood and grabbed her robe off the chair by the door, slipping out of the room before she answered. 

“This is Beatrice.”

“Your Majesty, Ms. Crawford.”

“Thanks, Carol,” she said as the operator connected the call. “Lena, do you know what time it is?”

She walked down the stairs, stepping into the office on the first floor. Her father had had it outfitted so that he could stay connected while on these ski trips. It wasn’t as formal as his study in the Palace had been - a large computer sat on top of the maple desk, and the room was dotted with overstuffed armchairs upholstered in red tartan. A dark gray wool blanket was draped over the back of the wooden desk chair. The fireplace was surrounded by a wall of built-ins, the shelves stacked with books and knickknacks and family photos. In an effort to maintain the illusion that this was simply any other cabin in the mountains, the biometric panel in the wall was hidden behind the wood paneling lining the room. If Beatrice needed to, she could pop the panel open and trigger the security response. Metal shutters would slam over the windows and concrete pylons would rise up out of the driveway, blocking entry or exit. Jeff had been convinced since they were kids that there was also a nuclear silo beneath the back lawn, but Beatrice was pretty sure someone would have told her by now if there was.

“Sorry, buddy. I know how you get when you don’t have your beauty sleep,” Lena replied. “I’ve got Admiral Oliver, we need to go over response scenarios.”

“You know, just once I would like for national security issues to arise during normal working hours,” Beatrice said, sitting down behind the desk. “Morning, Admiral,” she added. 

“Good morning, Your Majesty,” his deep voice replied. “CIA has confirmed that the missile came from an outpost outside of Tiraspol.”

“Moldova,” Beatrice said. 

“Yes, ma’am. We’ve forwarded you the briefing.” 

Beatrice clicked at the space bar on the keyboard in front of her, the royal crest appearing on the computer screen. Logging in, she pulled up the encrypted file from her national security council. 

“Your Majesty, this is Samara,” another voice spoke up. “Per our sources on the ground, Moldova is teetering on the edge of an all-out coup. Striking down our plane was another item on the long list of ways that General Donici is trying to assert power in the country. Anti-American sentiment has been on the rise for months in the region.”

Beatrice nodded as she read through the briefing on the screen. “So there’s no way this was mistaken identity?”

“No, ma’am,” Oliver replied. “They knew what they were doing.” 

“Okay,” Beatrice said. “Tell me the response scenarios.”

She listened as her National Security Advisor and Chairman of the Joint Chiefs explained her options. Beatrice never liked this part. She knew, on some level, that as the commander in chief she couldn’t allow her planes to be shot out of the sky without consequence. There’d been fifty-two American servicemembers on board. But that didn’t make her feel any better about the prospect of ordering airstrikes. 

“The USS Hamilton is off Cyprus, ma’am,” Oliver said. “Jets can be scrambled within two hours.”

“We’d have to use Turkish airspace,” she said, leaning back in the chair, the front legs coming up off the floor. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied. “I’d recommend stealth on the way in, notification on the way out.” 

Beatrice nodded. “When do you need the order?”

“As soon as possible, Your Majesty,” Samara answered. 

She glanced at the clock on the desk. “Give me an hour or so with this?” she asked. 

“Yes, ma’am. We’ll await your call.” Oliver said. 

“QDB at eight your time,” Lena reminded her before she disconnected the phone, referring to the Queen’s Daily Briefing. Until Beatrice, it had always been referred to as the KDB. It was the sovereign’s daily security briefing, bringing her up to speed on all manner of national security, including briefings from the Guards regarding any threats to the royal family themselves. 

She spent the next hour scrolling through the Moldovan response, scouring through details of potential casualties on each of the suggested targets. She put her head down on the desk, breathing in deeply. She wasn’t entirely sure she should be making this decision on only five hours of sleep, but her answer probably wouldn’t change with more rest. 

Picking up her phone again, she dialed the operator, who put her through to the Situation Room. After giving Oliver the go order through the watch team on duty, she prepared herself for her next briefing. 

It was after nine when she finally emerged from the office, remembering to pull the sleeves of her robe down over her hands. Traipsing into the kitchen, she winced slightly at the loud clatter of dishes. 

“You idiot,” Charlotte smacked Livingston on the back of the head, “you’re going to break something.”

Beatrice ruffled Jeff’s hair as she walked past him, smiling at the loud groan he emitted. “Late start for you, Peanut,” she said. His head was cradled in his arms on the counter. 

“You’ve been up for hours I assume. Saving the world and all that,” Jeff said as he lifted his head slightly, leaning his chin on his hands. 

Beatrice snorted. “Not exactly,” she said quietly as she headed for the French press. 

“Careful,” Jeff said, watching her. “Your boyfriend made the coffee this morning.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Beatrice jumped slightly as Teddy came out of the pantry, holding a loaf of bread. He kissed her head as he set it on the counter. 

Beatrice exchanged a look with her brother. “Nothing!” she said to Teddy. “Just that, umm…”

“No one has time for your weak New England coffee?” Jeff suggested, his voice muffled somewhat by his inability to lift his chin from the counter. A laugh burst out of Beatrice before she could stop it. She quickly hid her mouth behind her forearm. 

“You don’t like the way I make coffee?” Teddy asked, his brow furrowing in what was quickly becoming his default setting. 

Beatrice shook her head. “Sorry,” she said, wincing playfully. “What?” she asked when his face remained the same. 

“Nothing,” Teddy said, grabbing the bread and turning toward the toaster. “You’ve just never said anything about it.” 

Beatrice cocked her head. “It’s never seemed like that big of a deal is all,” she said. “It’s not like you make me coffee that often.”

“Whose fault is that?” Charlotte muttered from her spot in front of the stove.

“Charlotte,” Teddy said, his voice edged with a surprising amount of anger. Beatrice looked between the two siblings with confusion. Teddy huffed as he pressed the lever down on the toaster. He turned back to Beatrice, placing a kiss on her forehead. “You want me to remake it?” he nodded toward the French press.

Beatrice shook her head. “Don’t be ridiculous, that’s a waste. Jeff and I will survive,” she turned to give her brother a hard look. “Right?”

“I guess,” Jeff mumbled, still not lifting his head. 

A sudden waft of Jo Malone Red Roses floated into the room. Jeff groaned slightly, burying his face back in his arms. 

“Beatrice, sweetheart, you look positively dreadful.”

Beatrice chuckled lightly, turning to grab a mug from the cabinet above her. “Morning, Mom.”

Adelaide stroked a hand down Beatrice’s hair. “I swear, your father didn’t have this many national security calls,” she said as she swiped her thumb over Beatrice’s cheekbone. “You’re going to need extra-strength concealer this morning.”

Jeff snorted. Beatrice resisted the urge to toss a tea towel at him. 

“Why do I need any concealer this morning?” she asked.

Adelaide frowned. “Do you read any of the emails Lily sends you?”

Beatrice took a long sip of coffee to avoid answering. Jeff was right, Teddy did make it too weak. Although in his defense, Beatrice and her brother liked their coffee “strong enough to chew” according to Sam. 

She did vaguely recall something Ben had told her about a photo op happening on Saturday, but the details eluded her. 

“Anyway,” her mother continued, stroking another hand through her hair, “since you weren’t here until late yesterday, we figured it’d be a good idea for you to be seen skiing today.”

_We?_ Beatrice thought. _Who’s ‘we?’_

She was technically done with work for the day, at least for the time being, so Beatrice didn’t have much of an excuse to get out of skiing in front of a pack of photographers. She took another sip of the watery coffee. “Sounds good.”

After nibbling slightly at a piece of toast, Beatrice excused herself to go check on Sam. Feeling guilty that she hadn’t done so last night, she knocked lightly on her sister’s bedroom door. 

“Don’t even say it, I know I look like crap,” Sam said into her flannel pillow. 

“You sound like crap too,” Beatrice said, smiling. She sat on the edge of the bed, putting a hand on Sam’s forehead. 

“Do you even know what a fever feels like?” Sam mumbled.

Beatrice laughed. “Fair question,” she admitted. “Now that we’ve established that you look and sound like crap, how are you _feeling_?”

“Worse than last night,” Sam said feebly. “Marshall’s out getting me meds. He’s gone full mother hen.” Sam’s laugh turned into a coughing fit.

Beatrice smiled, stroking a hand over Sam’s sweat-soaked hair. “Can _I_ get you anything?”

Sam shook her head. “Are you sure?” Beatrice asked again. “Need me to go to Mexico and get those good throat lozenges? Anything to get me out of skiing.”

Sam snorted, reaching toward the nightstand for a tissue. “Mom?” she guessed.

“Mom.”

“Just tell her you don’t want to,” Sam said, blowing her nose loudly. 

“Can’t I just say I need to stay here with you?” Beatrice pleaded. 

Sam shook her head. “Sorry, that won’t work. Marshall and Nina are both staying with me today, Mom won’t buy that I need you too.”

Beatrice put her hand over her heart. “You mean you don’t need your big sister to take care of you in your hour of need?” she said dramatically, feigning shock and flopping back over Sam’s legs. 

“Get off, you dork,” Sam said, kicking at her. “You’re going to get sick if you keep touching me.”

Beatrice sat up. “Fine,” she sighed. “I’ll remember this next time you need something from me,” she narrowed her eyes at her sister as she stood. 

Sam smiled, then coughed again. “A chance I’m willing to take.”

Beatrice managed to make it through a day of skiing without much incident. Ginny had taken over the job of coordinating the royal rota, since Beatrice had put her foot down that Lucy had enough to deal with without also having to coordinate the lifestyle and fashion reporters. Sometime in the afternoon, Beatrice had taken refuge in one of the SUVs parked at the ski lodge in order to conference with her staff about the press briefing that Lucy would be giving later that night regarding Moldova. The timing had to be just right, since it was Saturday and the Palace didn’t typically brief the press on the weekend. Beatrice was worried about the optics of her being in Telluride while these national security decisions were being carried out, but Penelope and Sean assured her that this wasn’t out of the norm for sovereigns of any nation.

“Your office there has a crash button, Beatrice,” Penelope had reminded her, “you could stage a war from your plane. There are going to be times when this happens while you’re not at the Palace. It’s normal.”

Beatrice wasn’t entirely sure she was convinced, but she trusted her communications staff. 

“Do you think I can get away with sneaking away from my mother at some point?” she asked Mike hopefully as she went to pull her ski parka back on. This was hindered somewhat by the fact that she was in the backseat of a car. “There’s only so many times I can go down the same run,” she complained. Adelaide’s staff had carefully planned out the best course for the photographers to get their shots. 

“If you go off at that first turn off, you can go around those trees and be on the backside without anyone noticing,” Jake said from the front seat. He and Gina had just switched posts. Petey would be on to switch with Colin in the evening. Beatrice looked up at him, her eyes narrowing in confusion. Jake caught her eye in the rearview mirror, shrugging. “I’m from here,” he said.

“You are?” Beatrice exclaimed. “Why didn’t you say anything? Does your family still live here? Have you seen them? You should!”

Mike winced as her voice grew louder. “Could you calm down?” he asked as he handed her her hat and gloves. 

She smacked him in the arm. “Did you know Jake was from here? I didn’t know Jake was from here.”

Jake, who was usually the quietest member of her Guard team, was laughing in the front seat. “It didn’t come up, Your Majesty,” he said. 

“Jake!” she admonished. “Okay, new rule,” she turned to Mike and Colin, who was in the driver’s seat, “if we’re in your hometown, tell me! Does he have time to see his family?” she asked Mike.

Mike and Jake exchanged a look. “We’re trying to figure out a time, kid,” he answered. “You take a lot of looking after.”

Beatrice knew this, of course. Even though the Washingtons visited Telluride every year, it was always more difficult for the Guards when she left the Palace. 

“Well, we should make it happen,” she announced. 

Mike rolled his eyes. “Yes, Your Majesty. Now put your hat on. You’ve got more preening for the cameras to do.”

Beatrice did actually manage to make several runs down the mountain, with Jake’s help, out of the view of the cameras. She had to admit those were much more fun. 

The family and their guests returned to the Washington compound for dinner. Adelaide had planned a large dinner with all of her children’s significant others and their families. Marshall’s parents, who had attended the New Year’s Eve party, had returned to Orange already to be with Marshall’s younger brothers. This disappointed Beatrice, since Marshall’s parents were much more fun to talk to than Teddy or Daphne’s. 

She made it through dinner unscathed, although she was still annoyed at her mother’s insistence that she sit at the head of the table. Beatrice made a mental note to have someone on the household staff order a circular table for Telluride so that this wouldn’t become an annual issue.

Beatrice excused herself before drinks and dessert to check on her sister.

“You owe me,” Beatrice sighed dramatically for the second time that day. “You’ve left me alone with them.” She flopped down into the armchair in Sam’s bedroom. 

“Jeff and Teddy are there,” Sam coughed. She was sitting up against the headboard, taking small bites of the chicken noodle soup that Marshall had acquired earlier. “You’re not totally alone.” 

“Jeff and Teddy are terrible barricades for Mom, you know that,” Beatrice groaned. “If anything she just gets more critical of me,” she mumbled. 

“Tell me about it,” Sam agreed. Adelaide had only become more hyper-focused on the Washington image in the past few months, and Beatrice knew Sam tended to bear the brunt of it. 

Sam started coughing again, her chest contracting violently. Beatrice dashed over to the bed, grabbing the bowl of soup out of her hand just in time before it tipped onto the bedspread. 

“Samantha, sweetheart, I really do not like the sound of that cough,” their mother swept into the room. The sisters exchanged glances, hoping she hadn’t been standing outside the door a minute earlier. 

Adelaide leaned around Beatrice to put a hand on her younger daughter’s forehead. “Your fever has broken at least,” she tutted. Beatrice moved to place the bowl on the nightstand, but was startled by Adelaide’s sharp intake of breath.

“What on earth did you do to your hands?” she grabbed Beatrice’s wrist. In her haste to prevent Sam from scalding herself with soup, Beatrice hadn’t thought to keep her sleeves pulled down over her fingers. 

“She burned them on the kettle this morning,” Jeff said from the doorway. Apparently the whole family had decided to check on Sam. “You know how hopeless she is in the kitchen.” Jeff walked around to the other side of Sam’s bed. 

“Thank you,” Beatrice mouthed at him from behind her hair. Jeff grinned. 

“Honestly, Jeff,” Adelaide scolded, “it is incredibly rude for us to leave our guests unattended.”

Jeff rolled his eyes as he flopped down next to his twin. “I think they can manage a few minutes by themselves, Mom.”

Just as the words left Jeff’s mouth, a crash echoed from downstairs. Beatrice chuckled. The younger Eatons definitely couldn’t be left unattended. “I’ll go,” she said, standing from Sam’s bedside, “Teddy might murder his brothers if I don’t intervene.”

Sure enough, as she made her way downstairs, she glimpsed a very chagrined looking Lewis, who was on the receiving end of a glare from his older brother. “What’d you break?” Beatrice asked, trying to stifle a laugh as she leaned over the railing on the landing. 

Lewis’ head shot up. “How attached are you to this vase?” he asked, as he held up a piece of broken pottery.

Beatrice narrowed her eyes. “Oh dear. That was a gift from the Prime Minister of Egypt,” she said seriously. “Legend has it that it contained the ancient curse of Anubis.” Lewis’ face paled considerably as she looked down at him. 

Deciding she’d had enough fun at his expense, Beatrice let out a peel of laughter. “I’m kidding!” she assured him. “I think Mom got that from HomeGoods.” She skipped down the last few steps. Adelaide did pride herself on being thrifty.

Lewis let out a massive sigh. “You’re not a nice person,” he said as he bent down to gather the rest of the pieces on the floor.

Beatrice struggled to contain her laughter. Looking over at Teddy, she reached out to squeeze his arm. “Lighten up,” she scolded him. His face still bore a stormy expression. “Even if it had been from the Egyptian Prime Minister, it’s just a vase.”

His face relaxed slightly. “Sorry, Lew,” he said to his brother. “Just try to be more careful.”

Fortunately the vase had broken into several large pieces, so it didn’t take Lewis long to clean up the mess. As Lewis wandered toward the kitchen to find a trash can, Teddy reached out and stopped Beatrice with a hand on her arm. Spinning around to look at him, she was surprised that the stormy expression had returned. 

“What happened to your hands?” he asked, holding her wrist.

“Oh!” Beatrice said, thankful that Jeff had provided her with an excuse. “I burned myself earlier this morning on the kettle.”

Teddy lifted his head, his dark blue eyes boring into hers. “Beatrice,” he said, releasing her wrist, “if you don’t want to tell me, that’s fine. But don’t lie to me.”

She took a small step back, putting some space between them. “It’s really nothing, Teddy.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “If it was really nothing, then you wouldn’t have lied to me just now.” He crossed his arms, pulling the sleeves of his own sweater down over his hands. “That’s why you were wearing gloves last night, wasn’t it?”

Beatrice nodded.

“So you hurt your hands? Why does that need to be some secret from me?”

Beatrice shrugged. His pleading face did make her feel a bit guilty, but not nearly enough to come clean with him. _She_ still didn’t know why she’d done what she did, but she could imagine that it probably wasn’t a good sign regarding her feelings toward her relationship with Teddy. He’d never been anything but kind to her, and he didn’t ask her for anything but honesty. Unfortunately, that wasn’t something Beatrice felt she could give at the moment. 

“You’ve never trusted me.”

Teddy said this so quietly she wasn’t even quite sure she’d heard him right. His arms were still crossed, his body arching inward. 

“Teddy,” she said, reaching toward him. He straightened up, putting his hands in the pockets of his jeans. 

“Why are you two in here?” Adelaide exclaimed, descending the stairs in that floating way she had. “Come along, now. I ordered those dreadful cupcakes you and your sister like, Beatrice.” Her mother looped an arm around her back. “Teddy, that is a lovely sweater. I meant to tell you earlier.”

Teddy smiled slightly. “Thank you, ma’am,” he said as he gestured for them to go ahead of him into the great room. Beatrice tried to catch his eye as she turned, but he was looking resolutely away from her. A surprising bubble of annoyance formed in her chest. It wasn’t any of Teddy’s business really, what she’d done to her hands. And what was he talking about, that she didn’t trust him? She couldn’t tell him anything regarding national security, but otherwise she told him pretty much everything, didn’t she? 

Beatrice did smile at the cupcakes her mother had ordered. Red velvet, which Adelaide thought was an obscene color, with cream cheese frosting. She grabbed one off the tiered cake stand, licking a swipe of frosting into her mouth. Her dad used to laugh at the orderly way she ate cupcakes - she licked the frosting off first, saving the cake portion for last. Sam always insisted that the best way was to tear the bottom of the cake off and place it on top, creating a frosting sandwich. Jeff just shoved the whole thing in his mouth. 

Her work phone chimed. She saw her mother shoot her a look from her spot near the windows, where she’d drifted off to chat with Teddy’s mother. 

Pulling her phone out of the pocket of her skirt, she saw a text from Lena giving her a timing update on the press briefing. From a quick glance at Twitter earlier, Beatrice had seen some news outlets already speculating why they’d been called for a weekend briefing. She still wasn’t quite sure how she was feeling about her decision this morning, but there was no going back now. The airstrike had already been carried out. 

As if on cue, Thomas Eaton’s voice boomed across the room. “Now what’s all of this about a press briefing from the Palace?” He and Daphne’s father turned toward her. “On a Saturday? What’s your staff doing now?”

Beatrice bristled at his tone. He seemed to imply that it couldn’t possibly be _her_ making these decisions. 

“The briefing starts in fifteen minutes,” she replied. “You’ll find out then.” She heard herself slip into Queen voice, her inflection going clipped and harsh. Maybe Chloe was right. She did sound a little mean. 

“This again,” Thomas laughed, shaking his head. “Teddy, you really need to talk to her about being more forthcoming.” 

Beatrice winced. After the conversation they’d just had, the last thing she needed was Teddy’s father adding fuel to the fire. 

To her surprise, it was her mother who spoke up. “Now, Thomas,” she said, being her most charming Southern belle, “you know that you aren’t privy to early information like that.” 

She drifted over to Beatrice’s side, tucking a lock of hair behind her daughter’s ear. “You should have said something was going on, sweetheart,” she spoke quietly. “Jeff, where did you put that remote? I never understand how to work this TV.” 

Beatrice stood to the back of the room while the news network turned to the Palace feed. She started chewing on her pinky nail as Lucy took her place at the podium. The Palace seal was displayed behind her, making clear where she was speaking from, and on whose behalf. 

“Good evening. At ten p.m. local time, the United States Navy carried out a series of airstrikes on several military targets outside of Tiraspol, Moldova…”

Beatrice focused on Lucy. She was a great press secretary. Incredibly competent, quick on her feet, and a good rapport with the Palace press corps. Prior to Beatrice hiring her, she’d been director of press relations for an organization to support women legislative candidates. She’d been concerned about her relative lack of experience with military operations, but Beatrice had reminded her that she also didn’t have much experience in that area. She was sure her father would have gotten around to it, but his untimely death meant that she was getting more on-the-job training than she’d ever anticipated. 

“Was the queen in Telluride when this all started?” a reporter asked. 

“Her Majesty was notified early Friday morning of the downing of the C-17 transport plane. She was briefed throughout the day Friday regarding the developments, and gave the go order on this mission early this morning.”

Beatrice felt Teddy’s eyes on her. She knew he was probably realizing the phone call that had woken him up this morning was regarding this mission. 

Lucy answered several more questions about casualty numbers and notification of NATO allies. 

“Good for you,” she heard Thomas say. “Can’t be letting these people get away with that.”

_I’m sure it doesn’t hurt that you have stock in several military contractors_. Beatrice bit her tongue. It would do no good to pick a fight with the Duke of Boston.

“Cool!” Livingston piped up as the network cut to a clip from Russian state television of one of the airstrikes. Watching the explosion, Beatrice felt her heart thump painfully in her chest. She started to feel the telltale tightening in her lungs, and ducked quietly out of the room. 

She leaned against the back of her bedroom door, breathing hard for a long moment. The firmness of the wood at her back grounded her a bit. Kicking her heels off, she reached down to pull her tights down her legs. She shed the rest of her clothes without conscious thought, suddenly unable to stand the feeling of the stiff fabrics against her skin. She took another deep, struggling breath.

Needing something else to focus on, Beatrice trudged over to the dresser, rifling through the drawers for a minute before she found her leggings and a sweatshirt. She stumbled over Teddy’s suitcase as she made her way to the bathroom. Kicking it in frustration, it banged into the closet door. Beatrice heard something inside the closet fall to the floor with a thud. Groaning, she leaned her forehead against the wall for a moment. 

She straightened finally, pulling the closet door open slowly to check for what had fallen. She was surprised to find her figure skates lying on the floor. One of the blades had chipped the hardwood slightly. 

Beatrice flopped onto the floor without any grace, pulling the skates toward her. She ran her finger along one of the blades, finding that it was still relatively sharp. She hadn’t _really_ skated in a few years, other than some photo ops here and there, but she’d always kept her skates well-maintained. An idea struck her. One that got her out of the house.

She threw a North Face vest on over her sweatshirt and found a pair of thick wool socks before grabbing her parka, hat, and gloves. She made her way quietly down the back stairs, slipping out the side door after shoving her feet into her snow boots. She walked around the wraparound porch until she reached the front of the house, pulling on the rest of her gear as she went. 

“Caleb,” she greeted her sister’s Guard. He was on duty outside the front door. “Could you radio my guys for me?” 

“Of course, Your Majesty. Are you going somewhere?” he asked, nodding his head toward the skates in her hand. 

She nodded. “If that’s okay.”

It only took about thirty seconds for Jake and Petey to make their way to the front of the house. Holding up the skates in her hand, she looked at Jake. “Any chance you know where I can use these around here?” 

He smiled, his brown eyes lighting up. “It just so happens that I do, Your Majesty. Come on.”

After some calls to the rest of the security team to conduct the necessary sweeps, Beatrice and her Guards were in the car driving to the indoor ice rink just on the edge of town. Apparently it closed at eight normally, but Jake had assured her that this wouldn’t be an issue.

Petey pulled the car around the back of the building, out of sight of any passersby. Hopping out of the back of the SUV, Beatrice was still curious as to how her Guards had apparently secured an empty ice rink at seemingly a moment’s notice.

A man opened one of the back doors of the building. As he stepped out under the glow of the floodlight above the door, he swept into a deep bow. 

Jake groaned beside her. “Sorry about him, ma’am,” he said to Beatrice. Then to the man, “Uncle Luke, we’re not at a military parade. Cool it with the bowing.”

Beatrice smiled, reaching her hand out as she reached the man who was apparently Jake’s uncle. There was a bit of family resemblance there, they had the same brown eyes and bony bridge of their nose. “Beatrice,” she said. “Jake’s right. The bowing is unnecessary, although your form is impeccable.”

“Happy to hear it,” he replied, clasping her hand. “Luke Fitzpatrick, Your Majesty. I hear you’re in need of an ice rink.”

She smiled again. “Only if it’s not too much trouble,” she said. 

He waved his hand. “No trouble at all! I Zamboni every morning regardless. Feel free to scratch up the ice as much as you want.” He turned, motioning toward the door. “Not every day that my nephew calls to tell me that the Queen of America is in need of my services.”

Beatrice waited while Petey stepped into the building first. She knew a larger security team had already swept, and would continue to mill around for as long as she was on site. 

“So you’re in charge of the rink, Mr. Fitzpatrick?” she asked as they walked down a hallway. Beatrice could smell the familiar scent of the ice, mixed with the faint hint of a concessions stand and sweat. 

“Yes, ma’am,” he nodded, “this one is the full NHL-sized rink in town. There are a couple further up the mountain at the ski resort, both an indoor and an outdoor. This one requires the most work though.” He stopped as they reached the rows of bleachers surrounding the ice. “The hockey players tear it up, and the more hardcore figure skaters like it better down here too. Not quite as many tourists,” he explained.

Beatrice nodded, looking out over the smooth surface. It had recently had a Zamboni run over it, the ice gleaming like a mirror under the dimmed overhead lights. 

“I really do appreciate this, Mr. Fitzpatrick.”

He waved her off again. “It’s no problem at all. Take all the time you’d like. Jake has the keys.”

Beatrice sat on the first row of bleachers, pulling her skates on. She slipped right back into the methodical lacing, looping them over the metal hooks and pulling tight to stabilize her ankles. She zipped her phone into her vest pocket, a throwback pop playlist blaring through her earbuds. Hopefully skating and some guilty pleasure boy band hits would put her in a better mood. 

She was pleased to find out that despite her time off, her body seemed to remember how to do this. Her dad used to laugh whenever he took her to the rink in Washington. _The clumsiest of my children_ , he’d say, his voice filled with affection, _but strap some knives onto your feet and suddenly you’re in Swan Lake_. 

Before he’d become king, when he was still just Crown Prince, he’d watch for hours while she spun around the ice. Jeff would beg to come too, and eventually he’d pester Beatrice enough that she’d agree to play hockey with him. Another memory came flooding back, of her accidentally knocking Jeff’s two front teeth out with her elbow. They’d been loose already, but Jeff had been so distraught that he wouldn’t get a visit from the tooth fairy that their dad had gotten on his hands and knees with the Guards to scour the ice for them. They’d eventually found them, and Jeff had been overjoyed that he’d lost them before Sam had. Of course, in true twin fashion, they’d gone back to the Palace to discover that Sam had had _her_ two front teeth knocked out during soccer practice that day. 

A sort of hollow feeling settled into Beatrice’s chest. Pushing that down, she turned the volume up on her phone, MMMBop blaring in her ears. Time to see if she could still do jumps.

She quickly discovered, after completing a few preliminary waltz jumps, that she could still do a single toe loop and lutz. Her thighs and calves burned with the exertion, her body not accustomed to the movements anymore. Beatrice found that she didn’t mind the ache. This was something that she’d always been good at, and that she’d had fun doing. Her mother had never understood why she’d bother with something that couldn’t possibly go anywhere, but her dad had always stuck up for her. _It’s okay to have something that’s_ yours _, Beatrice,_ he’d said. 

Her double axel was not quite so stable. She kept under-rotating. After the third or fourth time she ended up on her ass, she could have sworn she heard someone who sounded suspiciously like Petey laughing hysterically from somewhere in the bleachers. She’d have to remember to fire him later.

Beatrice didn’t know how long she was on the ice, jumping and spinning before once again falling. She’d probably have a nice bruise on her right hip tomorrow. She tried to remember the mechanics of the jump, focusing on the technique - the axel jump included an extra half rotation, and required a change in the center of gravity while still in mid-air, since she took off from her left outside edge and landed on her right. _Focus, Beatrice_ , she thought. _You used to be able to do these in your sleep_. What was it her dad used to say? _Chin up, sweetheart. You keep watching the ice, you’re gonna faceplant._

She skated a few rounds around the rink, gliding around the ice to get her bearings again. Bending her knee, she kicked through with her right leg to spin her body two and a half times in the air. This time, she landed, her left leg swinging out behind her. It probably wasn’t the prettiest jump she’d ever done, but Beatrice felt her mouth stretch into a wide smile. 

“Yes!” she said, pumping her fist slightly. “Dad! Did you see —”

She stopped abruptly, her hand flying to her mouth. She’d looked toward the bleachers, expecting to see her father, standing and clapping boisterously, the way he always did when she finally stuck a trick. _Best axel I’ve ever seen!_ She’d roll her eyes, since it was the _only_ axel he’d ever seen. It wasn’t like he spent his time watching figure skating competitions.

Beatrice wobbled to the edge of the rink, leaning her hands on the boards. She realized that her sudden inability to breathe wasn’t because she was having another panic attack. She was crying. Big, gulping, heaving sobs that seemed to come from all the way down in her stomach. Her glove quickly became soaked with tears and snot as she wiped at her face, trying to calm down. She couldn’t remember ever crying this hard. Not even the night she’d sobbed into Connor’s chest, after her father had first told her he was dying. This was deeper than even that, the harsh, wracking sobs threatening to tear her in two. 

She had no idea how long she stood there, leaned over, gripping the blue painted edge of the boards, tears falling down her face and pooling at her collarbone. At a certain point she stopped trying to pull herself together, and simply let the hollow feeling in her chest push everything out. 

Something white swam into view. A tissue. As her eyes focused, she saw that it was attached to a dark brown hand. 

“You’re going to make yourself hurl if you keep sniffling your snot back up your nose, Busy,” Marshall said, his other hand rubbing her back. 

She took the tissue from him, blowing her nose violently. “How long have you been here?” she asked, hiccupping through the words. 

“Long enough to hear you ask for your dad,” he said, his hand still rubbing back and forth over her shoulders. 

That set her off again. Beatrice cried for a few more minutes, finally pulling off her gloves so she could properly wipe at her face with the rest of the tissues Marshall handed her. 

“ _Why_ are you here?” she asked, still taking gasping breaths. It came out a little more irritated than she meant it to. 

At that, Marshall grinned slightly. “Sam asked me to check on you. Jeff told her about the airstrike,” he explained, “I think she was just looking for an excuse to get me out of the house. She said I was ‘smothering her with love.’” His fingers came up in air quotes.

Beatrice laughed as she blew her nose again. “How’d you know where I was?”

He shrugged. “I asked Caleb to radio your Guards. It’s not like you’re hard to find.”

“True,” she said, taking a deep breath. Despite the crying, she actually felt better than she had a few hours ago. “What time is it, anyway?” she asked, wiping under her eyes. 

“Ten-ish?”

Beatrice sighed. “I guess I should be heading back…” 

Marshall leaned against the boards. “You don’t sound super thrilled at that prospect.” He handed her another tissue, gesturing toward her face. “You also look a mess.” 

Beatrice choked on a laugh, burying her face in her hands. Judging by the residue on the tissue, her mascara was nowhere near her eyelashes anymore. Just then, her stomach emitted a loud growl. She’d picked at her dinner, so she’d hardly eaten anything today besides the cupcake. 

“I guess crying your eyes out works up an appetite,” she joked. 

Marshall perked up, his mouth stretching into an excited grin. “Midnight breakfast!” he declared. 

She cocked her head. “It’s not midnight,” she said. Her voice was hoarse. 

He waved his hand. “Don’t be so literal, Biz.” He looked around the rink. “Where’d your Guards go? We need a 24-hour diner, stat. I didn’t eat dinner.” 

“Yeah, you left me alone, traitor,” Beatrice blew her nose again. “I had to make small talk with Margaret Eaton.”

“Sorry, dude.” He didn’t look sorry. 

Beatrice called out for Jake and Petey before stepping gingerly off the ice. She was already feeling stiff and sore. She was pulling her boots back on when her Guards appeared beside her. 

“Hey!” she looked up at Marshall, remembering how she’d ended up at this ice rink in the first place. “Jake’s from here!” 

“Perfect!” Marshall clapped his hands together. “We need breakfast food,” he declared. 

Jake and Petey exchanged glances. “I guess we can make that happen,” Jake said. “Your Majesty?”

Beatrice nodded. “Let’s go.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did i make myself cry writing this chapter? yes i did! your dad died, bee! you're allowed to be sad about it! (and feel other feelings about it, but we'll get to those). 
> 
> bee is such a perfectionist, figure skating seemed like a sport she'd be drawn to because it is so predicated on being flawless. plus, it can be done in an enclosed space away from the prying eyes of photographers.
> 
> time is literally an illusion during this pandemic, i didn't realize it had been fully 10 days since i'd last posted. what i thought was one chapter turned out to be over 10,000 words, so don't worry, i have plenty written haha. 
> 
> thanks for reading!!!


	16. Chapter 16

_I’ve been staring at the edge of the water_

_long as I can remember_

_never really knowing why_

_I wish I could be the perfect daughter_

_but I come back to the water_

_no matter how hard I try_

_how far I’ll go - auli’i cravalho_

A half hour or so later, Beatrice and Marshall were slouched across a booth at a place called Mo’s Diner. Jake promised that it had good waffles and even better coffee, which definitely appealed to Beatrice. 

Beatrice’s only real experience with diners was from what she’d seen on television, but Mo’s seemed to fit the bill of classic American fare. The tables were lacquered in advertisements for local businesses, and a display of pies sat underneath glass covers on the counter. There were even stools upholstered in bright red leather. 

A waitress appeared as they were pulling off their coats. Beatrice saw her stop abruptly once she got a good look at who had sat down in her section. 

“Can I get you anything to drink?” the waitress snapped out of her trance. Beatrice smiled widely at her, thankful that she hadn’t tried to curtsy. The waitress was probably about her and Marshall’s age, maybe younger, petite and blond. Her name tag identified her as Candace. 

“I’ve been told you have good coffee,” Beatrice said. 

Candace smiled. “We do! Nice and strong.”

“Perfect,” Beatrice smiled back. “I’ll take some, please.”

Marshall ordered the same, then leaned back against the back of the booth. “So,” he said. “What’s up with you?” 

Beatrice laughed at the sing-song tone of his question, a decidedly unladylike snort coming out. “Oh, nothing much,” she sighed, flipping her menu open. “Ordering airstrikes, getting snot all over an ice rink. You know how it is.” 

“I didn’t realize when Sam said you and Jeff used to skate that you used to _skate_ ,” Marshall said. He smiled at Candace in thanks as she set their coffee in front of them. 

“It was just something we did for fun,” Beatrice shrugged. “Hockey was too dangerous for Jeff to play competitively past elementary school. When we were younger we used to sneak down to the ballroom at night and play roller hockey. Sam hated it.” Beatrice grinned at the memory, taking a sip of coffee. Jake hadn’t been wrong, it was good. 

Marshall chuckled as he poured a packet of sugar in his. “Yeah, she said it annoyed her how much better at it you were.” 

“Well, Sam was better at basically everything else, so that seems only fair.” 

Candace came back and took their orders. Marshall informed Beatrice that the rules of midnight breakfast meant you couldn’t even think about calorie counts or whether a food could splatter a stain onto your outfit. Taking this into account, Beatrice decided on double chocolate chip pancakes. Marshall ordered something called the Miner’s Breakfast, which seemed from the menu to be enough food to feed approximately six people. Conservative estimate. 

“Your dad would take you to the rink?” Marshall asked this timidly, clearly bracing for more tears. 

Beatrice was pretty sure she’d already cried as much as she was physically capable of within one day. She nodded. “Especially before Grandpa died. He always liked the more niche sports,” she smiled. “He watched swimming a lot too,” she said, glancing over her mug at him. 

“Really?” Marshall perked up. “I didn’t know that.” 

“Never missed an Olympics. He woke me up at some ungodly hour during the Beijing games because he knew I didn’t want to miss the gymnastics.” Now that she was allowing herself to think about him, memories of her dad were flashing through her mind. She’d avoided any thought of her dad so steadfastly these past couple years that she was actually a bit surprised she could remember him so vividly. 

“Sam talks about him a lot,” Marshall broke through her thoughts. “Your dad, I mean. I never thought the king would have been such an involved parent,” he admitted. 

Beatrice smiled. “He really tried to be. He didn’t talk about it much, but I got the feeling maybe my grandfather hadn’t been? It’s a hard thing,” she looked across at Marshall, “balancing all of that.” 

Marshall blew out a long breath. “I bet. That’s part of the reason I only talked about wine the first time we met. I didn’t want to be in the running for future king consort even a little bit.” 

Beatrice’s coffee mug clattered on the table. “You did that on purpose?” she sputtered. “I just thought you were really into grapes!” 

He shook his head, joining in her laughter. “Nah, wine is my mom’s thing. I felt bad about it actually, you seemed miserable. I just didn’t want a callback.” He set his mug down to look at her pointedly. “So you need to do your best not to get assassinated before you have a kid.” 

Beatrice’s brow furrowed. Marshall shrugged. “I don’t _want_ to be king consort.” 

Beatrice realized what he was saying. “But you’d do it for Sam?” she finished. He nodded.

His phone vibrated in the pocket of his vest. He pulled it out, glancing at it quickly before putting it back in his pocket. Candace reappeared with their meals. Marshall’s plate took up half the table. 

“I’m really happy for you two, you know,” Beatrice said as she cut into her pancakes. “I’ve never seen Sam smile as much as when she’s with you.” 

Marshall smiled softly, almost bashful as he dumped salt onto his hash browns. “The feeling is mutual.” 

They chewed quietly for a moment. Beatrice moaned as she dug into the fudgy pancakes. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had chocolate chip pancakes. Certainly not an Adelaide-approved breakfast. 

After several minutes of digging into their food, Beatrice felt Marshall’s eyes on her. She looked up expectantly, raising her eyebrows in a questioning look. 

“If you don’t mind me saying,” he began. “ _You_ haven’t seemed all that happy lately. Like, for a while.” 

Candace appeared to refill their coffee, which gave Beatrice a few extra seconds for that to sink in. Marshall wasn’t wrong in his observations. 

“I am sometimes,” she started. “Happy, I mean. Sort of, anyway?” Beatrice grimaced. 

Marshall dug into his scrambled eggs. “Very convincing, Busy.”

“Ugh,” she leaned her head back, groaning. 

“It’s a hard job you’ve got,” he said, clearly trying to placate her. She heard his phone buzz again. 

She took another bite of pancakes. “I actually like some of it,” she said. “The _work_ part of it, you know? When I feel like I’m _doing_ something. It’s this part,” she waved her hand out the window, toward the ski resort, “the having a photocall during what’s supposed to be a vacation. The balls with the people who don’t care about anything but being on the Palace’s good side in order to line their own pockets.” She stabbed at a pancake with her fork. “I realize that’s somewhat hypocritical of me.” 

Marshall smiled. “I’m an heir too, remember?” he asked around a mouthful of bacon. “It’s not anywhere close to what you had to deal with all these years, but I get some of it.”

This reminded Beatrice of something she’d always wanted to ask Marshall. “How did your parents react when you said you were going to pursue swimming? Mine would have thrown a fit if I did something like that.” 

“They didn’t really react at all,” Marshall took another sip of coffee. His phone went off again. “It made me happy, so they just kind of went with it. My grandfather was uneasy at first, but he came around.” 

Beatrice chewed for a moment. “They didn’t try to talk you out of it?”

“No, Biz, they didn’t. But I also wasn’t going to be the head of state and government for one of the most powerful countries in the world,” he winked at her. “I’m inheriting a title and a pile of money and some businesses and land. No one is waking me up at four a.m. for a military operation in Eastern Europe or asking me to nominate a new chairman of the Federal Reserve.” 

She hadn’t thought of that before. Not really. Her parents had been so adamant that only a fellow noble would be able to handle this life that she hadn’t considered that even the child of a duke had no true idea what her existence was like. How surprised had Teddy been that she’d never been through a fast food drive thru? And he still wasn’t used to the Guards, or her staff, or the immediacy of some of her duties. 

“Does Sam need you or something?” Beatrice asked as his phone vibrated again, drawing her out of that reverie. She gestured at his chest with her fork. 

Marshall popped the last bite of sausage in his mouth. “It’s your brother,” he rolled his eyes, but Beatrice could see he wasn’t actually annoyed. “They’re night skiing. He wants me to come out.” 

Beatrice smiled. She knew their dad used to sneak out with Jeff at night to ski down the mountain in the dark. “‘They’ meaning?” she raised an eyebrow. 

“Him and Teddy’s brothers. Apparently Teddy wasn’t invited because of the ‘stick up his ass,’” Marshall quoted from his phone screen. 

Beatrice snorted. “He has been a little testy with them this trip,” she admitted. “Although in his defense, younger brothers can be infuriating.” She drained the last of her coffee. “Come on,” she said. “We should go get them before someone sees them.” 

Marshall gestured for the check. “I guess Her Majesty can’t get in trouble with ski patrol.” 

“There are _some_ perks,” she smiled at Candace as she handed over the check. “I’m Beatrice Washington, by the way,” she offered her hand. 

“Candace Littleton,” she returned Beatrice’s smile, turning to shake Marshall’s hand too. 

“Are you from Telluride, Candace?” Beatrice asked. She saw Marshall roll his eyes again. He knew where this was going. 

“Yes, Your Majesty — Beatrice?” she corrected at Beatrice’s stern look. “I work here during breaks. Trying to minimize the student loans I take out,” she made a chagrined face. 

“Where do you go?” 

“The state school in Boulder,” Candace answered. “I’m a junior.” 

“What’s your major?” 

“I’m pre-med.” 

Beatrice saw Marshall pull his phone out of his pocket again. “Well, good luck with school, Candace. I’m sure you’re destined for great things,” she clasped Candace’s arm for a moment. Candace stared down at her arm for a moment, before shaking her head, clearing away their dishes and grabbing Beatrice’s credit card. Beatrice still didn’t like seeing her face on the paper currency. 

“How much is tuition at —”

Marshall slid his phone over, the calculator app already open. “That’s tuition for her last year, plus textbooks and an MCAT prep course if she wants.” 

Beatrice grinned as Candace set the receipt and her card back on the table. She waited until Candace had drifted back behind the counter before pulling out her checkbook. _Let me know if you need a letter of rec for med school. I know a few people - BW_ , she wrote on the back of the receipt as she clipped the check to it. 

“Quick,” she hissed at Marshall as he slipped his coat back on. 

“What, is this a heist? Cool your jets.” He slipped a few hundreds out of his own wallet, putting them under his empty coffee mug. Beatrice raised an eyebrow. “What?” he shrugged. “College students need beer money.” 

“That might end up on social media,” Petey said as he held the diner door open. He’d been sitting near the entrance while Jake patrolled the exterior of the building. “You don’t even know who she is.”

“Nah,” Beatrice said as she slipped out. “I have a good feeling about Candace.”

“She’s good people,” Marshall agreed as he followed behind. Snow had been falling again, several inches of powder coated the SUV. 

Beatrice had made a habit of “over-tipping” waitstaff over a year ago. It had started out as an apology for Margaret Eaton’s behavior. Congress had been in the midst of debating a raise to the minimum wage and Margaret had made a rude comment about “the reasons people should go to college” and “earning potential” within earshot of a young server at Cornwallis Inn. Beatrice had bitten her tongue – she had really wanted to point out that Margaret had never had a paying job in her life, and thus knew nothing about _earning potential_ – and had instead settled on leaving a two hundred percent tip on the table’s bill. It had since snowballed, helped along by Marshall and her brother and sister.

Another perk of Jake’s local knowledge of Telluride was that he knew exactly where the boys would be. There was a particular stretch of the mountain that was popular with the more daring snowboarders. Petey radioed Matt and confirmed their whereabouts. 

After some arguing about whether the Queen of America should be allowed to drive her own snowmobile, which Beatrice eventually won, the group made their way up the mountain. 

“I really don’t see why you needed to be up here,” Petey grumbled again as they reached Matt. 

“Honestly, you two,” Beatrice rolled her eyes as she dismounted, “I don’t think anyone is lying in wait to shoot me on a mountain at night.” 

“Just don’t tell Lawson no one swept first,” Petey said. 

Beatrice gestured toward her brother’s Guard, who was standing near a copse of pines. “Are you doubting Matt’s security capabilities?” 

“Don’t drag me into this, Your Majesty,” Matt replied. “I’ve had enough trouble with His Royal Highness.”

Beatrice shivered slightly as the group looked further up the mountain. She shoved her gloved hands down further into the pockets of her parka. “Where is my idiot brother, anyway?” 

Matt checked his watch. “They should be coming down any minute, Your Majesty.” 

On cue, a goldenrod blur came into view, quickly followed by a hunter green and a royal blue. 

“Seriously?” the royal blue blur skidded to a stop in front of them, sending snow flying into their faces. “You snitched to my sister?” Jeff accused Marshall as he pulled his goggles up off his face, setting them across the brow of his matching blue helmet. 

“He didn’t _snitch_ , Peanut,” Beatrice rolled her eyes as she brushed snow off her coat. “Do you really think it’s the best idea to be out here in the middle of the night?” she arched an eyebrow. 

Jeff pointed toward Matt. “I told Matt! I didn’t even sneak out!” he argued. 

“I don’t think even Matt has the ability to stop you from snowboarding into a tree in the dark.” 

“Beatrice,” he groaned. 

“Jefferson,” she mimicked. 

He turned toward Lewis and Livingston, who had smartly decided to remain silent during this exchange. They both shrugged, clearly unwilling to provide backup to the prince. 

Jeff turned back and held up a gloved finger. “One more run?” he pleaded. 

Beatrice considered for a moment. “One,” she relented, holding up her own finger. 

“Thank you, benevolent ruler,” he bowed deeply. Reaching down to undo his bindings gave Beatrice enough time to gather snow in her hand. She hurled it at him as he straightened up, cackling loudly as he sputtered. 

“That’s just rude,” he said through a mouthful of snow, although she could have sworn there was a hint of a smile on his face. 

“How long have you been out here?” Beatrice asked Matt after the three boys had begun their ascent back up the run. “It’s freezing.” She shoved her hands deeper in her pockets, twisting her body back and forth in an attempt to generate some friction. 

Matt shrugged. “An hour or so?” 

Beatrice had often felt a little sorry for the twins’ Guards. She had never given her own that hard of a time. She liked to think it was because she had a respect for their job and the dangers it posed, but she knew it likely had more to do with her deeply ingrained fear of getting in trouble. Although her siblings did drive the Guards crazy sometimes, Beatrice had always been jealous of Sam and Jeff’s ability to be completely unrepentant in their actions. Even a scolding from their mother, which could be epic in its proportions, had never deterred them from doing whatever they wanted. 

She noticed Marshall shiver out of the corner of her eye. “What?” he accused at her glance. “I’m from L.A. Leave me alone.” 

Beatrice chuckled. Although the temperature was probably hovering a few degrees below freezing, the windchill was definitely making it worse. At least it had stopped snowing for the time being. 

The goldenrod blur reappeared. He caught an edge at the last second, wiping out and sliding on his back for several feet. 

“I thought the queen wasn’t supposed to laugh at her subjects,” Livingston grumbled as he sat up and pulled his goggles off. He glared as she and Marshall doubled over in laughter. 

“I don’t know who told you that,” Beatrice said as Marshall walked over and offered Livingston a hand up. “And you’re not my _subject_ ,” she said, sticking her tongue out in disgust as she said the word. 

Livingston leaned his board up against one of the snowmobiles. He pulled off his helmet and yanked a mustard colored bobble hat over his head. “Jeff and Lewis should be right behind me.” 

Beatrice nodded, turning to look back up the mountain. As she pulled her own hat further down over her ears, she caught sight of Jake’s face. He was watching a spot further above them, toward the peak, in that eerily still way the Guards had. It was the same look Connor would get just before he’d maneuver subtly, putting himself between her and whatever the unseen danger was. Mike did it too, although he tended to be a lot less subtle about it. 

Just as she was about to ask Jake what he was so focused on, a low rumble echoed across the mountain. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Marshall?” Sam’s voice sounded truly pitiful, even to her own ears. After no answer, she leaned up onto her elbows, glancing around her room. He wasn’t next to her, and he wasn’t in one of the armchairs either. Pressing the home button on her phone, she saw that it was close to midnight. Maybe he was still with Bee? Her sister had been playing her usual cool character earlier, but Sam had noticed a few cracks in her mask. After Jeff had mentioned the airstrikes, she’d realized why Beatrice had seemed particularly on edge. 

Reaching back toward her nightstand, she found that she was out of the Gatorade that Marshall had brought her earlier. She flopped back onto her pillows, groaning loudly. He’d mentioned that there were more in the fridge downstairs, but that meant that she’d have to actually make it down the stairs. 

After a few minutes of psyching herself up, Sam lugged herself out of bed, pulling on her robe and slipping into her slippers. 

Thanking whatever higher power had sent her a boyfriend who could remember that she only liked blue Gatorade, she pulled one of the bottles out of the fridge. She wrapped her hand around the orange cap, trying to twist. After several attempts, she angrily banged the bottle against the counter. She groaned, laying her head down on the cool marble. The sound of plastic cracking startled her. 

“Sorry,” Teddy said, sliding the now-open bottle toward her. “Didn’t mean to scare you.” 

Sam noticed he was still in jeans and a sweater. She took a long swig of her drink, reflexively glaring at him. “What are you doing up?” she asked. 

He shrugged, sitting down on one of the breakfast stools. “I hadn’t realized Beatrice left the house. I was waiting for her to get back.” 

This surprised Sam. “They’re not even here?” 

“They?” Teddy raised his eyebrows in question. 

Sam coughed into her elbow. “I told Marshall to go check on her. I figured she was just hiding in her office or something.” It worried her a little bit that her sister had completely left the property. It wasn’t like her to go traipsing around Telluride, but maybe she and Marshall had gone somewhere? 

“Why’d you ask Davis to check on her?” 

Sam rolled her eyes. “I asked _Marshall_ because he and Beatrice are friends.”

“I know that,” Teddy mumbled. Then, louder, “But why did you think she needed checking on?” 

She’d been taking another drink of Gatorade. “Are you serious?” she sputtered slightly. “She called an airstrike this morning.” Teddy continued to stare at her. “People are dead because of an order she gave, you idiot. You don’t think maybe she’s having some feelings about that?” 

Teddy looked down at his hands for a moment. “I didn’t think of that,” he said finally. “She doesn’t talk about that kind of stuff with me.” 

Sam groaned again. “She doesn’t talk about that kind of stuff with _anyone_. You have to pry it out of her with a crowbar.” How did he not know this about Beatrice? They’d been dating for almost two years now. It’s not like her sister was some big mystery. 

Another coughing fit wracked through her chest. Teddy got up to find her tissues. She begrudgingly thanked him as he sat back down. 

“Do you know what she did to her hands?” Teddy asked quietly. Sam almost couldn’t hear him over the sound of her blowing nose. 

“Yes,” she replied. Teddy looked up at her expectantly. “I’m not going to tell you. Ask her if you want to know.”

“I _did_ ask her,” Teddy said. “She lied to me about it.” 

This didn’t surprise Sam. She had a theory about why Beatrice had smashed up her wedding china, and it probably wasn’t something Teddy wanted to hear. 

“You can’t be afraid to fight with her, you know,” Sam said. “She’s my sister, and I love her, but she can be kind of an asshole sometimes.” 

Beatrice would let things trickle out occasionally, about the way their parents had been when Sam wasn’t paying attention. Sam hadn’t quite realized just how much their parents had treated their eldest daughter as the heir, rather than their child. It was part of the reason she’d forgiven Beatrice for the whole Teddy thing in the first place. Beatrice had had a certain definition of duty hammered into her head since childhood, and Sam had realized over the last couple years that it explained a lot of her sister’s behavior and choices. Beatrice’s recent decisions as queen were making Sam hopeful that she was starting to question what she’d been taught, but Beatrice wasn’t going to be able to do that on her own. 

“I don’t think you’re supposed to call the queen an asshole,” Teddy said. 

Sam rolled her eyes. “She’s my _sister_. If she’s being an asshole, then it’s practically my duty to tell her so.” 

Teddy stared off into space for a while, drumming his fingers slightly on the countertop. 

“She shouldn’t be ‘the queen’ to you either, you know,” Sam said, blowing her nose again. “She’s your girlfriend.” 

Teddy gave her a disbelieving look. “Her being the queen is more important than that.” 

Sam sipped on more Gatorade. “Being the queen is Beatrice’s _job_ , Teddy,” she croaked. “It doesn’t give her an excuse to be a dick. If you have a problem with something she’s done, then you need to talk to her about it.” 

Teddy just shrugged. 

Sam groaned in exasperation. Shaking her head, she tossed her now empty bottle into the recycling bin. If Teddy didn’t want to communicate with his girlfriend, that was his own problem. 

Just as Sam was reaching into the fridge to grab another Gatorade to take with her back to bed, she noticed a swarm of lights outside the great room windows. That was weird. Teddy turned to see what she was looking at. 

The front door opened, followed by the sound of feet walking quickly. 

“Your Royal Highness,” Caleb greeted as he walked into the kitchen. “Lord Eaton,” he acknowledged Teddy belatedly. “I need you to remain downstairs for a moment, please,” he said to Sam. 

“What’s going on?” Sam asked. Footsteps sounded from above, doors being opened and closed. 

“Your Majesty,” Caleb greeted Queen Adelaide as she came into the kitchen, followed by her Guard, Fred. Sam was forever in awe of how perfect her mother always looked, even after being woken up in the middle of the night. 

Someone had roused Nina from her room, and she walked over to stand next to Sam. Sam leaned her head on Nina’s shoulder. Adelaide’s eyes narrowed as she looked around the room. 

“I’m missing two kids,” she turned to Fred. 

Caleb answered. “Her Majesty pressed her panic button, ma’am.”

Adelaide reached a hand out suddenly, grabbing onto Sam’s arm. “When?” 

“Approximately forty-five seconds ago,” Caleb replied. “A team has been dispatched to her location.”

A cold feeling settled over Sam. Beatrice wouldn’t have pressed her panic button unless something was very, very wrong. But it was after midnight in a small ski resort town, and she had two Guards with her. What trouble could she possibly be in?

“What about Jeff?” Adelaide asked, still clutching Sam’s arm like a vice. 

Caleb was silent for a moment, clearly listening to the comms unit in his ear. “We believe His Royal Highness is at the same location, ma’am.” 

This didn’t ease Sam’s worry. Or Nina’s, if the way her friend’s arm tightened around her waist was any indication. 

“Marshall might be there too,” Sam remembered. “He was going to go check on —”

Caleb interrupted her. “Lord Davis is with Her Majesty.” More listening to his comms unit. Then, “We have eyes on one of your brothers,” to Teddy, who had paled considerably at the mention of Beatrice’s panic button. “One?” he asked, starting to stand up off the stool.

“ _Where are my children_?” Sam had never heard her mother raise her voice like that. Even at her angriest, Adelaide maintained an air of cool level-headedness. It was unnerving to hear the catch in her throat. Sam was sure her mother didn’t realize how tight her grip on Sam’s arm was either. 

“There’s been an incident on the mountain, ma’am.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> not a whole lot of action in this one, but bee is slowly working her way toward the big meaty emotions that she needs to confront. we're also starting to get to the problems that i think are inherent in the bee/teddy relationship (i'm trying to be fair to teddy as a character and not let my judgment get clouded by things he can't control, but it is Difficult lol). 
> 
> before i forget - does anyone know if bee ever saw the picture connor drew of her (the engagement present)? i know that sam did, but i can't remember if bee herself ever saw the actual drawing. 
> 
> hope everyone is having a happy holiday season! thanks for reading!!!


	17. Chapter 17

_so I shut down, keep everyone out_ _  
so no one breaks my heart again  
and it works for a while until it doesn't  
'cause I get lonely, no one to hold me  
so I open up again  
I fall, I bleed, and it stings  
'cause I miss, I miss feeling things_

_feeling things – ingrid andress_

“Turn your beacons to receive,” Jake said. After the roar from above had subsided, an eerie quiet had settled over the mountain. Beatrice could only hear a thumping in her ears. “All of you, now,” he repeated to Livingston, who was unmoving, staring up the run. When Livingston remained still, Petey strode over, and yanked the avalanche transceiver out of the younger man’s jacket pocket, switching it into receive mode. 

Beatrice saw Petey turn toward her. “Don’t even think about it,” she said, her back straightening in preparation for a fight. 

“If they’re both buried, we’re going to need all the hands we can get,” Jake interjected, going to help Matt pull the safety packs off the snowmobiles. “Your Majesty, hit your panic button.”

Beatrice looked over in surprise. One of Ron’s many security upgrades was to have her start carrying around the small device. It resembled a car key fob – she even kept it on a Harvard keychain – and it would immediately alert every member of the Palace Guard team that the queen was in imminent danger while providing them with exact geographic coordinates of her location. 

“Your Majesty, we’ve got about fifteen minutes to find them and dig them out,” Jake said, handing a safety pack to both her and Marshall. “They are almost certainly going to need immediate medical transport. Hit your panic button.”

Beatrice pulled the button out of the inside pocket of her vest, flipping the cover of it off and pressing firmly down three times. “Think S.O.S. or 9-1-1.” Ron had said when he’d first handed it to her, explaining how it worked. An army of security personnel would descend, or ascend, as it were, within minutes.

Jake and Matt had taken off up the mountain, heading toward the spot where the slab had come loose. They had all watched as Lewis, then Jeff, had appeared over the top of the ledge above them. As Jeff dropped in behind Lewis, a crack appeared right below him, taking both boys with it. Beatrice had let out a strangled gasp as the mountain had seemed to swallow her brother and Lewis whole, her eyes subconsciously trying to follow the royal blue jacket. 

She belatedly realized what Jake had been watching with such intent, although there had been no time to shout any kind of a warning. They wouldn’t have been able to hear it anyway.

“Do you remember how to use that?” Jake nodded toward the beacon in Beatrice’s hand. She, Marshall, and Petey had followed the two Guards up toward the slide, while Livingston remained behind to flag down help as it arrived. He still hadn’t moved from his spot, staring at where his brother had gone under, so Petey had turned on all of the snowmobile headlights for maximum visibility.

Beatrice nodded. Jeff hadn’t been wrong when he’d called her a worry wart last night. _Was that last night?_ The family had gotten new beacons this season. Beatrice had read the instruction manual multiple times, and she had even had Chloe test it out during a game of hide and seek in the gift room. 

Jake glanced up and down the mountain, a calculating look on his face. “Okay,” he turned back toward her. “Jeff was above Lewis,” he shone his flashlight upward. Avalanches were apparently cause for a lack of title protocol. “Beatrice, Matt, and I are going to start up here. Petey and Marshall, down here,” he swung the flashlight around them. “Move quickly, but carefully. These conditions still aren’t great.”

Beatrice was surprised at how calm she felt. She’d just watched her brother get buried under potentially feet of snow and ice. But she had a task to complete. Find Jeff. Dig Jeff out. Simple. Her mind was devoid of any other thoughts. 

“Time?” Matt asked after they’d started searching. 

Jake checked his watch. “They’ve been under five minutes.”

Beatrice concentrated on the sound of the snow crunching beneath their feet as they walked, each of them traversing back and forth over the slide area, searching for the signal from Jeff’s beacon. She didn’t feel the cold anymore, or the biting wind. _Find Jeff_ , she thought with each step. _Find Jeff_. 

Petey and Marshall had gotten a signal response. She could see them out of the corner of her eye, poking into the snow with the long probes, trying to determine how far down Lewis was. Her brain didn’t have the capacity to process any of that. _Find Jeff_. 

“Here, we’re getting close.” Jake pointed down. Sure enough, Beatrice’s transceiver showed her getting closer to the transmitting beacon. “Probe here.” He pointed again. “Listen for beeps.”

“I’ve got something hard down here,” Matt said. 

“Dig,” Jake said. 

_Find. Jeff._

_Find. Jeff._

_Find. Jeff_. 

Her heartbeat in her ear was timed to the mantra.

Beatrice hadn’t counted on digging through solid packed snow when she’d gotten dressed earlier. Her leggings had already been soaked through on one side from her many falls at the rink, and the front quickly became wet as she sank to her hands and knees. Her wool gloves became water-logged as she dug, using both her hands and the small shovel from the safety pack. She pulled them off in frustration, flinging them behind her.

After several minutes of frantic digging, her knuckles collided with something hard and sharp. Jeff’s snowboard. As she and Matt dug it out more, they saw that it was still attached to his feet. Jake moved quickly up, toward where Jeff’s head should be, digging frantically to try and clear Jeff’s airway. Beatrice and Matt continued to dig out the rest of Jeff’s body as Jake worked to free his neck and head. 

“He’s breathing,” Jake announced. Beatrice realized belatedly that she hadn’t been. “Come up here,” Jake motioned to her, “keep digging his shoulders out. Talk to him, see if you can get him to respond. He’ll recognize your voice better than either of ours. Try not to jostle his neck, we need to keep him stabilized.”

She and Jake switched spots. “Jeff,” Beatrice said, scooping handfuls of snow away from his upper body. “Peanut, it’s Beatrice. Can you hear me?” Matt got Jeff’s left arm free. She reached down and grabbed his hand. “Peanut, I need to know you can hear me.” She hoped she didn’t imagine the tiny squeeze from Jeff’s hand. 

“That’s good, Jeff. We’ve got you, okay?” she rubbed her hand against his chest. “I’ve got you, but I need you to stay conscious. Can you do that?” There was shouting in the distance, and Beatrice was pretty sure she could hear the sound of a rotor turning, but she couldn’t take her eyes off her brother’s face. “We’re gonna get you out of here, but I need you to squeeze my hand again.” Harder squeeze this time. 

Matt unsnapped Jeff’s boot bindings, feeling along his legs for injuries. “I think his leg is busted,” he said, gently pressing on Jeff’s thigh. “I’m worried about his femoral artery.”

Jeff hissed as Matt’s hand pressed again. “That’s good,” Beatrice said, using her knees to hold his helmeted head steady. She leaned further over his face as snow flew up in a helicopter’s rotor wash. “It’s good that that hurts, Peanut. That’s a good sign.” She had no idea if that was true or not, but her mouth was spewing words faster than her brain could keep up. Anything to keep Jeff conscious.

Flashes of red appeared in her peripheral vision. There was more yelling, and something yellow was set down next to Jeff. Someone was talking to her. 

“Ma’am, you need to give us room.” She felt her head shake. “Ma’am, we’ve got him.” She held fast to Jeff’s hand.

Arms came around her waist, lifting her out and away. Beatrice kicked, her foot colliding with the shin of whoever was carrying her off. “Put me down,” she struggled against the grip. “I need to stay with my brother.” More kicking. “My brother –”

“Stop kicking me, kid,” Mike’s voice said in her ear. “Let the medics get him onto the bird, alright?”

Beatrice looked around, spotting the helicopter that she’d been hearing. The red aircraft had landed on the plateau just below, where she’d been standing when the avalanche had started. She struggled again, slipping slightly as he grunted. “I can’t leave him alone,” she tried to wriggle out from underneath Mike’s hold. “I left Dad alone.”

Mike shifted her, lifting her further off the ground and tightening his arms. “We’re going to be right behind him.” He started walking down the mountain, carrying her with him. “You did good, kid. You have to let the professionals do their job now.” 

She was deposited on a snowmobile. Mike swung his leg over behind her, reaching forward to grab the controls. The helicopter lifted. Mike’s arm came up, shielding her face from the flinging ice. It hit the sides of the snowmobile like gravel.

Before Beatrice knew it, she was in the back of an SUV. Warm, dry air blasted out of the vents. The clock on the dash told her that it was now after one in the morning. 

The door next to Mike opened, and Marshall climbed over him to get into the backseat. Beatrice leaned her elbow on the door handle, propping her head in her hand. The pounding in her ears hadn’t quieted. Marshall’s hand squeezed her shoulder. 

“Did you get the Eaton kid?” Mike’s voice was gruff. Beatrice realized she hadn’t thought to check on Teddy’s brother. She felt a twinge of guilt. She liked Lewis, and she certainly didn’t want him hurt, but her focus had been solely on her own younger brother. 

“Yeah, he wasn’t that deep,” Marshall replied, his voice modulating wildly. “He was conscious and talking. Livingston got in the helicopter with him.” Beatrice nodded, wiping her nose with her hand. She couldn’t feel her fingers. She yelped slightly when Mike pulled her left hand towards him. Pulling the sleeve of her parka up slightly, Mike let out a low curse. 

“When did this happen?” Her left wrist was swollen to around twice its normal size. Beatrice shrugged. She had no idea. “It’s probably just sprained, but we should get you an X-ray. Keep that elevated.” He propped her elbow on the armrest. 

Mike gestured for her other hand. He examined it, before pulling his own gloves off and gently pulling them over her hands. The tips of her fingers were red and she had stopped being able to feel them several minutes ago. Mike turned toward the backseat. “Good, you kept your gloves on,” he said to Marshall, shooting a glare towards Beatrice. 

“Mine were wool,” Beatrice said quietly, staring out the window. “They got wet.” 

Mike’s voice softened slightly. “You did good, kid,” he said again. “Both of you,” he looked back at Marshall. “I’ve had Guard trainees not react that well in a crisis.”

Beatrice scoffed. “You mean you’re not going to yell at me for being on a mountain at midnight?”

Mike leaned back against the headrest, closing his eyes. “No, I’m not. You were up there with your Guards. You weren’t violating protocol, even if you were technically trespassing. And if you hadn’t been up there, your brother would probably be dead right now.”

Beatrice’s head turned so quickly that she felt a pop in her neck. Cracking an eye open, Mike explained. “Matt wouldn’t have been able to find them both and dig them out on his own. Not in time anyway. And your panic button provided us with an exact location for the emergency response.” Marshall squeezed her shoulder again. His hand was shaking. 

A beep and crackle sounded from Mike’s jacket. He slipped his earpiece back in from where it had been dangling off his shoulder, listening for a moment. 

“Your mother and sister are meeting us at the hospital.” 

Beatrice groaned, her still rapid heartbeat ratcheting up even further. There was a factor she hadn’t considered. “Mom’s gonna be pissed.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam didn’t hear much past “He’s going to be alright.” The doctor continued to say words to her mother, but Sam turned and buried her head in Nina’s shoulder. 

“He has a fractured femur,” the doctor continued, “and we’re going to have to repair it surgically. The orthopedic surgeon on call can explain it to you in more detail. We’ve done a CT scan to rule out any head injuries or other fractures.” 

Nina’s hand came up to stroke Sam’s hair. 

“And my daughter?” Adelaide asked. It was the first time Sam had heard their mother refer to Beatrice that way since the coronation. “Why isn’t she out here?” Sam lifted her head to see Adelaide gesture around the waiting room.

The doctor nodded. “We took her back for an X-ray. Her wrist was pretty swollen. It’s likely just a sprain,” the doctor reassured her, “but we want to be thorough.”

“Of course,” Adelaide replied, clearing her throat. “When can we see them?”

“Your daughter should be out in half an hour or so. Your son will likely be in surgery for the next couple hours.” 

Sam hadn’t realized that the doctor had left until she was suddenly yanked into her mother’s chest. Even more surprising, Adelaide had put an arm around Nina as well. Nina’s eyes went wide, meeting Sam’s. 

“Mom?” Sam asked after a moment. “Are you okay?” 

Adelaide straightened up. “Of course. Your brother and sister are fine. Everyone is fine.” She shook out her mane of hair, which was still curling perfectly against her shoulders. “I need to go speak to Ginny about keeping the press out of this for now.” Adelaide ran a hand over both Sam and Nina’s hair. If Sam didn’t know better, she’d have thought her mother’s hands were trembling. Adelaide turned abruptly down the hallway, in pursuit of her press secretary. 

“Your mom just hugged me?” Nina’s head tilted in confusion, watching the dowager queen walk away. 

Sam looped her arm around Nina’s waist, leaning her head heavily back on her shoulder. She really wasn’t feeling well still. “She’s known you since we were kids, Nina.”

“She’s never hugged me before,” Nina argued as she led Sam over to the row of waiting room chairs. 

“Maybe she got a visit from the Ghost of Christmas Future or something,” Sam sniffled as they sat on the hard plastic. “God, I hate hospitals.” Fortunately, with her stuffy nose, she couldn’t smell the antiseptic. 

Nina pulled her head back down onto her shoulder. “Everyone’s fine,” she stroked Sam’s hair, repeating Adelaide’s words, “no one’s that badly hurt.” 

Sam burrowed further into her fleece jacket. She’d known something must be really wrong when her mom hadn’t made a comment about the fact that Sam was still wearing her pajamas and slippers, her hair up in a sloppy ponytail. She pulled her legs up underneath her, leaning heavily on her best friend. 

Some time later, after Sam had drifted off against Nina’s side, a gust of cold air blew into the waiting room as the automatic doors slid open. Sam didn’t stir until Nina nudged her in the rib.

Cracking an eye open, she was surprised to see Daphne standing just inside the doors. She had on black leggings, which Sam didn’t think she’d ever seen Daphne wear, and it didn’t look like she’d brushed her hair. Daphne glanced around the waiting room, spotting Sam and Nina in the corner. She seemed to waver a moment, her eyes darting between the nurses’ station and the two friends. Finally, Daphne inhaled a deep breath and walked further into the waiting room.

“Your Royal Highness. Nina,” Daphne greeted. Sam felt Nina go rigid underneath her cheek, but Sam didn’t bother lifting her head. “How are...Is everyone okay?”

Sam watched her for a moment. Daphne had pulled her gloves off, and was twisting them around in her hands. Her hair stuck out from under her gray beanie in a red mass, definitely frizzier than it had ever appeared in a paparazzi photograph. She wasn’t wearing any makeup.

“Jeff’s in surgery,” Sam said eventually. “He broke his femur.” 

Daphne paled slightly, biting down on her lip and looking away. 

“He’s going to be okay, though,” Nina clarified. “He’ll just probably be on crutches for a while.”

Sam snorted into Nina’s sleeve, leaning back into her. “Bet you’ll love that. You can play doting girlfriend to the cameras.”

“Sam,” Nina admonished quietly. Cracking an eye open again, Sam saw that Daphne’s face was flushed, and she was still looking resolutely away from them. 

“You can wait with us,” Nina said. “If you want.” Sam cursed having a best friend who was such a decent person.

Daphne slowly lowered herself into one of the plastic chairs opposite them. “What about everyone else?” Daphne asked after another moment of silence. “Is Her Majesty alright? And the Eatons?” 

Sam nodded without lifting her head. “Jeff got the worst of it, it sounds like. The Duke and Duchess are around here somewhere yelling at the boys.” 

The three of them lapsed into silence again. Sam’s NyQuil from earlier definitely hadn’t worn off, and despite the relative chaos of the emergency room she found herself drifting off quickly against Nina’s shoulder. 

“You said she’d only be half an hour,” Adelaide was saying somewhere nearby. 

“She’s finished with the X-rays, ma’am.” That sounded like one of the Guards. 

“Then why isn’t she out here?”

There was a long pause. “She’s still incapacitated, ma’am.”

“Incapacitated how? Is she hurt more than you thought?”

“No, ma’am.”

Sam decided she should probably wake up further. Her sister might need her. Pulling away from Nina, she saw that Teddy had joined them in the waiting room at some point. He was sitting on the edge of his seat, turned toward where Adelaide was arguing with Colin. He hadn’t changed, his coat open over his sweater and jeans. His eyes met Sam’s. Clearly he didn’t think he should interrupt this conversation. Sam had no such qualms.

“Can I see my sister?” Sam sat up further. 

Colin turned toward her. “I’m not sure…” he trailed off.

“Just spit it out, Colin,” Sam said, standing up. Nina grabbed her elbow as she swayed slightly. 

“She’s throwing up. She can’t really talk right now.”

“Why is she throwing up? What happened?” her mother was using that same slightly hysterical tone she’d used back at the house. It was still unsettling. 

“It happens, ma’am,” Colin said, clearly trying to be soothing, although his hands were fidgeting wildly. “It’s likely shock. The adrenaline is leaving her body and she’s starting to process what happened. Lord Davis and three Guards are with her.” 

Sam felt Teddy come up behind her.

She turned to Colin. “Just let her know we’re out here, if she wants to see any of us.”

Colin nodded, smiling slightly. Sam was sure he appreciated the opportunity to retreat. “Your Majesty, Your Royal Highness,” he bowed slightly as he turned to walk back down the hallway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Seriously, how do you possibly have anything left in you?” Mike asked as Beatrice heaved again. 

“That might be my fault,” Marshall said. “Midnight breakfast.” Mike nodded as though this was a perfect explanation. 

Gina was holding her hair back as Beatrice vomited into the metal basin that a nurse had shoved under her face when she’d started looking green. Beatrice realized this wasn’t the first time that Gina had been stuck with that particular job. 

“How are you not sick?” Beatrice glared at Marshall, gagging slightly around the bile still stuck in her throat. “You ate enough to feed a small village.”

Marshall grinned. “I guess I’m just better at controlling my emotions than you.” Beatrice held her middle finger up at him as she continued to spit saliva into the basin. The sour bile remained heavy in her throat. 

Marshall clutched his hand to his chest. “Your Majesty! Well, I never!” he said in an exaggerated Southern accent. 

A nurse came back in before Beatrice could further respond to Marshall’s theatrics, followed by a young doctor. “Your Majesty,” the doctor greeted, “I’ve reviewed your chart and I’m worried about dehydration. I’d like to hook you up to an IV if that’s alright with you.” 

Beatrice groaned, but nodded. Marshall stepped out, allegedly to see Sam, but Beatrice was pretty sure he just didn’t like needles. Gina helped her sit back against the pillow before going to join Petey outside the door. 

“I have bad veins, just warning you,” Beatrice said to the nurse as she inspected her inner arm. 

The nurse smiled. “Not to worry, Your Majesty. I’ve done a few of these,” she winked. 

“Someone as young as you?” Beatrice asked. “How many could you have possibly done?”

The nurse laughed. With her white hair, and the smile lines around her mouth, she was probably in her late sixties. “You always were a charmer.”

Beatrice cocked her head to the side. “You don’t remember me, do you?” the nurse asked. Beatrice shook her head. “I helped stitch you up years ago. You’d fallen down the stairs at your house?”

“Oh!” Beatrice exclaimed, the memory flooding her. Her parents had decided to take a weekend trip to Telluride the spring before the twins were born. She’d fallen down the front steps of the lodge and hit her head on the stone column holding up the porch roof. An image of her father running up the driveway flashes in her mind. Why had he been running? 

“You gave me a lollipop! Mom was mad,” she chuckled. “She didn’t want me to have sugar before dinner.” 

The nurse smiled again. “You had a nasty goose egg on your head, but you had everyone in the place laughing. You couldn’t stop telling everybody how excited you were that you were getting _two_ siblings to play with, even though you’d only asked for one.” 

This surprised Beatrice. Her parents had known the twins were _twins_ of course, and they had told Beatrice, but otherwise they’d kept it quiet until the birth. It hadn’t leaked in the press once. So the nurse couldn’t be remembering that correctly. A tip that the future king and queen were having twins would have fetched a pretty penny from the tabloids. 

“There you are,” the nurse said as she taped down the tube. “The doctor will be back in a few minutes to check on you, and we’ll get you a brace for that wrist.” 

Something buzzed. Turning her head, Beatrice saw Mike pull a phone out of the inner pocket of his coat, which he’d draped over the back of a chair. He shook his head, typing quickly. 

“Your boy needs to take a chill pill,” he said as he sat back in the seat. 

Beatrice’s brow furrowed. “Isn’t Teddy outside somewhere?” She assumed he would be, anyway. “How would he have even gotten your number? I didn’t even know you had a phone.” 

Mike scoffed. “I don’t mean Eaton.” 

Beatrice continued to stare at her Guard in confusion. He arched an eyebrow back at her. 

“Oh,” Beatrice said quietly, realizing. She looked down at her hands. “How does he even know what happened?” 

“It hit social media a little while ago. All the commotion drew attention. I guess you weren’t answering your phone.”

Beatrice patted around her vest awkwardly. Her left arm was out of commission and her right had a needle stuck in it, which made phone extraction difficult. Pulling it out of her pocket, she saw four missed calls from Connor’s number. She smiled slightly, before training her face back into a neutral expression. 

“What’d you mean ‘my boy?’” she asked, looking back at him. 

Mike rolled his eyes. “Oh, please. You two are the least subtle people I’ve ever seen.” 

“You saw us interact for all of five minutes,” Beatrice retorted. “He was my Guard for over a year. We’re friends.” 

“Whatever you say, kid.” 

Beatrice typed a quick text. _I’m fine, promise. Leave Mike alone._

Three dots appeared immediately. _Thanks. Call me later?_ Then: _Tell Lawson that you weren’t involved in any avalanches while_ I _was your Guard_. 

Mike startled slightly at her sudden laughter. “He says he’s a better Guard than you,” Beatrice told him. 

Mike muttered something under his breath that sounded an awful lot like _little twerp_. 

Her slightly lifted mood was dashed when Colin came in to inform them that the paparazzi had staked out the hospital. If Mike were to be believed, Beatrice did not look presentable to be photographed. She could only imagine how she looked – her clothes were still soaked, her wrist was in a clunky black brace, and she was sure the third night in a row of little sleep was taking its toll on her complexion. 

Beatrice was dead on her feet by the time she was boarding Eagle V again. The plan had always been for her to fly back to Washington on Sunday evening, and after discussion with both Lucy and Ginny it was decided it would be best for her to maintain that schedule. Her Guards had managed to get her out of the hospital without being seen, in an elaborate scheme that involved her hiding under a sheet on a gurney pushed by a pair of nurses. 

Jeff was going to be in the hospital for several more days. He’d come out of surgery well, but he had been warned it would likely take six months or more to get back to full mobility. Adelaide had already made several calls back to Mrs. Bennett, who was head of household staff at the Palace, to ensure that Jeff’s suite was ready for his return. Beatrice was sure he’d have driven every occupant of the Palace crazy by the end of his recovery. 

When she’d finally emerged from her hospital room, her mom had hugged her so tightly and for so long that Beatrice was worried she was going to lose feeling in her extremities. This reaction had surprised her almost as much as Margaret Eaton’s, who had given her a cursory glance and a “Thank you, Your Majesty” before dragging her younger sons to their waiting car. 

Teddy had met her in the waiting room. His eyes had gone to the brace on her wrist, stopping him short as he’d been reaching for her. He’d settled on dropping a kiss to her forehead. 

Beatrice watched him make eye contact with his brothers. “Go with them,” she’d told him, pushing lightly on his shoulder. “I think they need their big brother right now.” He’d tried to argue, but she’d eventually convinced him. Livingston was still looking especially shaken. Lewis had escaped with just minor bumps and bruises, and he’d apologized profusely to Beatrice for the “trouble he’d caused.” She’d waved him off, shoving Teddy out the door after him. 

She was still feeling spacey, her brain fuzzy and unfocused. Mike and Colin had practically had to carry her up the stairs into the airplane cabin. Mike had shoved her into her personal suite onboard, leaving her with her pain meds and ordering her to get some sleep. Lena had already called to warn her that the press was swarming the Palace, and that Ron was having to field questions about security procedures. It was against Guard protocol to comment, but that didn’t stop reporters from asking in the first place. 

Beatrice woke up some time later, groggy and disoriented. Her arm was throbbing. She must have been more exhausted than she’d realized – she didn’t even remember taking off. Checking the monitor on the wall, she saw they were somewhere over Tennessee. 

Someone had left her a tray of food on the side table. She plucked a bow-tie pasta out of the bowl with her fingers, popping it into her mouth. After glancing at the monitor again, she grabbed the plane phone out of its cradle, dialing the number she knew by heart before flopping back onto the bed. 

“Markham.”

“This is my proof of life,” Beatrice said as she grabbed more pasta out of the bowl, stabbing it with a fork. She propped the phone between her shoulder and ear. 

“Jesus, Bee,” Connor breathed. “What the hell happened?” 

“An avalanche,” she said, her mouth full. 

“Beatrice…”

She chuckled. “I’m fine, Connor.”

“Bee,” he said. Something in his voice stopped her from joking again. 

“Jeff’s got a broken leg and Lewis has some pretty good bruises,” she said, sighing. “I’m completely fine. Well,” she amended, “I did sprain my wrist.” 

“You weren’t…” he trailed off. 

“I wasn’t what?”

She heard him take a deep breath. “There’s a rumor that you were caught in it,” he said finally. 

“I wasn’t. Just Jeff and Lewis. I was down the mountain.”

Connor was silent for a moment. Beatrice could hear him breathing, otherwise she might have thought she’d lost the connection. 

“I was surprised I didn’t freak out,” she said to fill the silence. “Jake just started telling us all what to do so that’s what I did. That’s weird, right? I’d just watched my brother get buried in an avalanche and I didn’t even blink. I should’ve been freaking out.”

“The closest I’ve ever seen you to a freak out is when you had that physics final.” Beatrice smiled. Connor had practically had to force feed her during that finals week. Physics was her one true nemesis, and she hadn’t been about to let it damage her lifelong 4.0. 

“How are you though?” he asked after she’d assured him that everyone else who’d been on the mountain was alright too. “I mean how are you _feeling_ , Bee?” he added when she sighed at his question. 

“I’m okay. I did hurl up my midnight breakfast though.” Those double chocolate chip pancakes hadn’t tasted nearly as good coming back up. “Did you know midnight breakfast is a thing? Everyone seems to think it’s normal to eat pancakes in the middle of the night.” 

Connor laughed. “Sure, I’ve had midnight breakfast before. What was the occasion?” 

Beatrice considered this for a moment. She was worried that if she started talking about what had happened at the rink that she’d start crying again. And she didn’t want Connor thinking that she just used him as a human tissue, even metaphorically. 

“I went skating,” she settled on. “I was feeling...weird? I guess? About the airstrikes.” _How eloquent, Beatrice._

“You’ve had quite the 48 hours, Princess.” 

She smiled involuntarily at the nickname. “You could say that.”

“How did you go from skating to breakfast?”

“Sam sent Marshall to come check on me. I think she was just annoyed at his hovering over her sickbed. She’s got a bad cold. Marshall is Sam’s —”

“I know who Marshall is, Bee,” Connor cut her off. 

“Oh.” This shouldn’t be surprising, really. The couple was photographed quite a bit. “Well, anyway. I wasn’t really feeling up to going back to the house, so he suggested breakfast.”

More silence on his end. “Why didn’t you want to go back to the house?” An odd sort of edge was in his voice, one she could tell he was trying to tamp down. It didn’t click right away why, but Beatrice eventually put it together. 

“It wasn’t…” She couldn’t decide how much she wanted to mention the Eatons. It didn’t seem quite fair to do. But another part of her, the part that missed her best friend, just wanted to _talk_. She missed talking to him, laughing with him, _arguing_ with him. She used to tell him everything. He knew all about her strained relationship with Sam during their teen years, and about how she’d secretly hated being student council president in high school. She’d sought him out almost immediately when her dad had told her about the cancer. Hell, Connor had been the only person she’d really confided in about her parents’ meddling in her love life. Even Sam didn’t know the full extent of it - Beatrice had never told her about the folder of profiles of the few young men who had made it past the king and queen’s rigorous criteria. 

“I’d started to have a panic attack, I think,” she began, “about the airstrikes. I’m still not super comfortable with all of that stuff. I never know if I’m making the right decision, and people _die_ , so you’d think I should be _sure_.” She switched the phone into her good hand and flopped back onto the bed. The doctor had seen the cuts along her palms and promptly used some sort of glue to hold the worst of the gashes together. “But my heart started to pound and I couldn’t breathe and I sure as hell wasn’t about to have a full-blown attack in front of…” she trailed off. “Other people.”

Connor made a soft noise, likely to let her know he was listening. 

“I found my skates,” Beatrice continued, “which must have distracted me, because I didn’t pass out or smash any –” she stopped abruptly. Normally she wouldn’t have any issue telling Connor about what she’d done the night of the Queen’s Ball. Besides maybe some light ribbing about her being unable to hold her liquor, he wouldn’t judge her. 

The issue was that she’d smashed china that had been meant for her and Teddy’s wedding. Her feelings were still a tangled mess, but she was certain that that wasn’t a day that Connor needed to be reminded of. She wouldn’t want to be, if their roles were reversed. 

“Anyway,” she went on, explaining how she’d made it to the rink. He snickered at her re-telling of her attempts at a double axel. 

“So you were pretending to be Michelle Kwan…”

“Michelle Kwan wasn’t known for her jumps.”

“Sorry, I need to brush up on my figure skating history.”

Beatrice laughed. Connor hadn’t been her Guard yet during the last Winter Olympics, but she had made him watch _The Cutting Edge_ more than once, which he’d done with only mild complaining. 

“So did you ever land this axel thing or did someone have to cart you off the ice eventually?”

“Of course I landed it,” she said with mock-affront. She sobered slightly, remembering what had happened next. She felt the words bubbling in her throat, begging to be let out. “I looked for my dad.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I landed it. He used to take me skating.” Connor let out an _uh-huh_ in acknowledgement. She’d told him about that. “I forgot for a minute, I guess. That he’s gone. I remember gliding out of it and I expected to see him standing there, clapping.” _Don’t cry, Beatrice. This is getting ridiculous_.

“I miss him.” She wasn’t sure if she’d ever said that out loud. Maybe to her sister? “I miss my dad.”

“Of course you do, Bee.”

Beatrice felt her throat tighten painfully. She choked a little. 

“I just,” she took a breath, wiping at her eyes, “it all happened so _fast_. I wasn’t supposed to _be here_.” She gestured around the plane, although Connor couldn’t see it. “I was supposed to be grown up, with my own kids, when this happened. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.” A part of her knew she didn’t just mean becoming queen. “I don’t know what I’m _doing_ , and he’s not _here_.” 

“I’m sure your dad felt like that too, Bee.” She closed her eyes, turning to press her face into the pillow. Like this, she could almost imagine that she was leaning into his chest, his words spoken into her hair, instead of over the slightly tinny connection of the airplane phone. A thought she wouldn’t dwell on. 

“You’re the smartest person I know.” She scoffed quietly. “I mean it, Bee. Your brain is…” he trailed off, chuckling slightly. “There are going to be times when you don’t know what you’re doing. I’d be more worried if you thought you _did_ know what you’re doing.”

Beatrice sniffled into her pillow. “Dad said something like that. When he told me he had cancer and that he didn’t have long. I told him I wasn’t ready, and he said he’d be worried if I thought I was.”

“See? If you won’t take it from me, then take it from him.” 

They sat in silence for several moments, Beatrice breathing slowly in and out. 

“It’s normal for you to feel like this, Princess. It’s normal for you to miss your dad, and it’s normal for you to not be sure that you’re doing the right thing. It’s _okay_.” 

Beatrice tried to sob quietly, but a gasping breath must have tipped him off. 

“Hey, hey, hey,” he said softly. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.” 

“It’s not your fault,” she laughed, wiping her nose on her sleeve. “After years of being a robot, I think all of my emotions are coming out at once. It’s very inconvenient.”

“You were never a robot, Bee.”

“You can’t possibly think that,” she argued. “I’m the Ice Queen, remember?” That had been the _Daily News_ ’ latest dig at her. 

“An Ice Queen who’s apparently cried twice in the last 24 hours?” 

A watery giggle burst out of her. “Shut up,” she mumbled into the pillow. “Don’t go telling people that. You’ll ruin my reputation.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Your Majesty.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nina eased the door open slowly, smiling at Matt who stood at attention outside. She didn’t actually know when the Guards slept. 

Jeff was propped against the pillows, his eyes glazed over slightly as he scrolled through his phone. He clearly still wasn’t completely out of the anesthesia.

“Hey!” he said, perking up. She smiled in return, fidgeting in the doorway. She’d hardly spoken to Jeff in over a year, and here she was, alone with him twice in one weekend. Sam had succumbed to NyQuil again and was currently sleeping against Marshall’s shoulder on a chair outside Jeff’s room, and Adelaide was talking animatedly on the phone while pacing the hallway.

“How are you feeling?”

Jeff’s smile widened. “I’m on some pretty good drugs right now, so I’m doing alright.”

Nina rolled her eyes. At least he was making jokes.

“How long are you going to be out of commission for?” she asked, easing herself into the chair next to his bed.

“Doc says six months,” Jeff grumbled. “I can’t even shower for like a week apparently.”

Nina’s nose wrinkled. “I’ll make sure to stay out of the Palace then.”

Jeff laughed. He glanced down at his phone as it chimed. He typed a response, before looking back to Nina. He’d been out of surgery for several hours now, but he was still looking groggy. 

“Ethan’s checking on me,” he said, gesturing with his phone. “I think he’s just bummed that he didn’t get to see me get taken out by a load of snow.”

“That’s not true, Jeff,” Nina rolled her eyes again. “He’s your friend. I’m sure he’s just worried about you. It was scary enough for me, and I had more information than the general public.”

Jeff sighed. “It wasn’t that big of a deal,” he mumbled.

Nina straightened in the chair. “Are you serious?” She gave him a hard look. “Jeff, you could have died.”

“I _didn’t_ , though. I don’t know why everyone is acting so weird.”

She stood up suddenly. “You were in an avalanche, Jeff! This is serious!”

He winced slightly at her raised voice. “I’m fine, Nina.”

She groaned loudly, leaning her head back toward the ceiling. 

“You’re only fine because of a combination of highly trained Guards, your sister and friend, and a heaping dose of sheer dumb luck.”

Jeff huffed. 

“Do you get that?” she asked. “Do you get that if Beatrice and Marshall hadn’t been there you’d probably be dead right now?” she continued. “Beatrice’s Guard happened to be from here and worked on the mountain during high school, so he knew exactly what to do in an avalanche. What if he hadn’t been there, Jeff? What if your sister wasn’t so neurotic that she tested her beacon multiple times before coming out here?”

Jeff snorted. “You just called the queen ‘neurotic.’”

“Jeff!”

“I’m _fine_ , Nina. Although I could go for a double M&M milkshake right now.”

“Don’t try to flirt your way out of this, Jeff.”

He reached out and grabbed her hand as she paced beside his bed. “I’m not trying to get out of anything, Nina.” He squeezed her hand, pulling her closer. “Why are you so upset?”

Nina stared at him for a moment. He tilted his head, seeming genuinely confused.

“It’s scaring me a little bit,” she said softly, “that you don’t seem to care that you almost died earlier tonight.”

Jeff’s thumb stroked back and forth across the back of her hand. He shrugged slightly, opening his mouth to say something, but he was cut off by the door opening suddenly. 

“Oh,” Daphne said. “Sorry.” She glanced down at Jeff’s hand, which was still clutching Nina’s. Nina expected her to react, but she just looked back up at the two of them, her eyes unreadable. 

“I was going to order food for everyone,” Daphne continued. “Don’t get too excited,” she said to Jeff, “your doctor says no solid foods yet.” Jeff’s head flopped back onto the pillow with a huff. Daphne turned to Nina. “Do you have a preference?”

Now Nina was seriously weirded out. She’d dropped Jeff’s hand by now, but shouldn’t Daphne be breathing fire at her? Was this all some kind of a ploy? Lull Nina into a false sense of security before she goes in for the kill?

“Um, no,” Nina said, stammering slightly. “Whatever everyone else wants is fine.”

“Pizza it is.” Daphne shut the door behind her. 

Nina stood in shocked silence for a moment.

“That was weird, right?” she turned to Jeff. “She’s never been that nice to me before.”

“She’s not _that_ bad, Nina.”

Nina gave Jeff another hard look. Good to know that he was still under Daphne’s spell.

Jeff winced slightly as he adjusted on the bed, which reminded Nina why she was mad at him in the first place. 

“You can’t be mad at me forever,” Jeff said at her stony face. 

Nina rolled her eyes. “I’ve been mad at you for five minutes. I know you’re used to getting everything you want, but you’re going to have to deal with me a little while longer.”

He closed his eyes, sinking further into the pillow behind his head. 

“Maybe that’s _exactly_ what I want.”

Nina huffed and plopped back into the chair next to him, doing her level best not to fall for his charms. She’d stay mad at him for at least another five minutes. A girl had to have _some_ dignity, even in the face of a very handsome prince.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when i first had the idea for this chapter i thought it might be a little ridiculous to have a prince in an avalanche, but then the latest season of the crown came out and i found out that there is precedent for that haha. fortunately for jeff he has a security team and an anxious big sister to get him out of trouble (and nina to yell at him). 
> 
> i had planned on posting this days ago, but i got distracted watching CSPAN for twelve straight hours. happy 2021!
> 
> thanks for reading!!!


	18. Chapter 18

_I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t take it_

_this is the time to smile, I can’t fake it_

_please allow me the chance now to break it down_

_it’s not snow, it’s rain coming down_

_and the lights are cool, but they burn out_

_and I can’t pull off the cheer_

_not this year_

_not this year – aly & a.j._

Something heavy and slightly pointy landed directly in the center of Beatrice’s stomach, followed by an even heavier weight collapsing onto her legs. Grunting, she cracked an eye open.

“Morning, Chloe,” she said to the little girl, who was still leaning heavily on her solar plexus. Light filtered through the curtains, brighter than it should be. “What time is it?” With the weight of a six-year-old and a yellow lab on her, Beatrice couldn’t quite reach her phone.

“Seven-thirty,” Chloe replied, clearly unbothered by the fact that she was crushing the sovereign. “Mike turned off your alarm after you fell asleep,” she continued when Beatrice tried to sit up again. “He said you needed to sleep because otherwise you’d be cranky.”

She really needed to remember to fire him. “Chlo, would you mind getting off of me? I’m a little sore.” Massive understatement. 

Chloe flopped onto the other side of the bed, narrowly avoiding kicking Beatrice in the face with a sparkly pink Mary Jane shoe. “Benny said you and Jeff were in a lavalanche.” Chloe’s tone and glare made Beatrice feel like she was being scolded.

“Avalanche,” she corrected. “And I wasn’t _in_ it,” she grumbled half-heartedly. 

Chloe continued to give her a calculating look. She raised her hand, pointing at the brace on Beatrice’s wrist. “You hurt yourself again.”

“I didn’t do it on purpose.” Why was she defending herself to a six-year-old? “It’s just a sprain.”

Beatrice hissed as she sat up. Every muscle in her body ached. She didn’t even want to know what her hip looked like today - it had already been black and blue last night. “Off, bud,” she said to Franklin, who was still lounging across her lower half. 

“Penelope is mad at you,” Chloe said as Beatrice gingerly rose from the bed.

“Oh, is she?”

Chloe nodded, dangling her tights-covered legs – pink, of course – over the side of the bed, her curls flopping over her face. “She says you have terrible timing. What’s that mean?”

“She probably means that we have a lot of work to do right now, and the press is going to be focused on my brother being in an avalanche instead.”

Chloe followed her into the bathroom. Beatrice found herself wondering if all children had such little respect for personal space. “Chlo, I need to take a shower.” The little girl didn’t move from her spot at the counter. She’d opened one of the drawers, picking up one of Beatrice’s headbands and inspecting it. “That means you should go find your brother,” Beatrice tried again. Chloe popped the pink velvet headband onto her head. “You can take the headband with you.” It matched the sweater she had on over her dress anyway. 

Chloe inspected herself in the mirror for a moment, which was a feat for someone who could barely see over the counter. Suddenly, she turned, careening back into Beatrice. She buried her face in Beatrice’s middle, squeezing her tightly with small arms. 

“I’m glad you didn’t get squished in a lavalanche.” 

Beatrice hugged Chloe back as best she could at the angle, running a hand over her curls. A lump rose in her throat, which she swallowed down before answering. “Me too, Chlo,” she coughed. “Go find your brother, okay?”

Chloe scampered off, Franklin trotting out the door after her. Beatrice groaned at the realization that her sprained wrist added another layer of difficulty to getting ready. At least she wasn’t as tired as she had been earlier - Mike’s tampering meant that she’d slept almost a full eight hours, which was a rarity for her these days. 

Chloe’s display of affection rattled her somewhat. Chloe had hugged her before, but the idea that she would be upset if Beatrice had been hurt made something in her chest squeeze tightly. She seemed to be genuinely concerned for Beatrice’s well-being. Chloe was only six, and didn’t know or care about the optics of the queen and prince being involved in an avalanche – she’d just sounded worried about them.

Beatrice startled slightly at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair was a mess of dark waves on her head. Not the kind of artful, purposefully tousled hair that other women seemed to make look so effortless. It looked more like she’d been dragged backwards through a hedge. She half-expected to see leaves sticking out of her head. The deep purple under her eyes might have looked grunge chic on someone else, but on Beatrice it made her look more like a nocturnal animal. 

Carefully pulling the large t-shirt over her head, she got a good look at the bruise that now took up much of her right side. She stepped gingerly into the shower, being careful not to strain her wrist while it was out of the brace. The warmth and steam at least helped her to feel slightly more alive. 

After her shower, and glaring at her reflection for several minutes, she went into her bedroom and pressed a button on her intercom. 

“Your Majesty?” the voice of the head of Palace staff sounded through the speaker. 

“Morning, Mrs. Bennett,” Beatrice said. “Could you send Jayne or Allie up to my suite? I need some assistance getting ready this morning.”

“Right away, Your Majesty.”

Beatrice felt like a bit of a heel asking for a Palace page to help her brush her hair, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to do it herself. At least both Allie and Jayne had experience helping Beatrice prepare for events, so the request wasn’t totally out of left field. 

Twenty minutes later, Beatrice slid her front door open. 

“Michael,” she greeted her Guard. 

“Your Majesty,” his face remained stoic. “Late start for you this morning.”

She ignored him. 

Ben greeted her with a stack of folders and a mug of coffee. 

“You’re a saint.”

“So you tell me, Your Majesty,” he smiled, a dimple appearing in his right cheek just like his sister. “QDB pushed back to the afternoon, senior staff is in your office now.” 

Steeling herself, she walked through the door that Mike held open. 

“An avalanche?” Lucy shouted at her appearance. “An avalanche? You can’t be serious with this.” 

“Lu, believe it or not, even I can’t control the weather.” Beatrice sat behind her desk, narrowly avoiding spilling coffee down the front of her pale pink blazer. 

“I’m with Lucy here,” Penelope said as she sat back on the couch. “Between this avalanche and your sister, it’ll be hard to get the press to focus on Alvarez.”

“I’m sure the press will remember that they have something to criticize me over.” Beatrice sat up suddenly, her heels clattering on the wooden floor. “Wait, what do you mean ‘my sister?’ What’s wrong with Sam?” 

Penelope made eye contact with Lena, who stood at the window. Lena nodded. Sean stood, placing a photograph on Beatrice’s desk. 

“That’s from Friday,” Sara said, joining Sean. “Paparazzi at the front of the club.”

The picture showed Princess Samantha, in her gold, backless dress from New Year’s Eve. Her eyes were glazed, her face flushed, and Marshall was clearly holding her up. 

Beatrice glanced up at Sean and Sara. “She’s sick. She has a bad cold. It came on Friday morning.”

Sara arched a red eyebrow. 

“I’m serious, guys. I know she’s been,” Beatrice waved her hand around, “before, but she is genuinely sick. She’s been hacking up a lung all weekend.”

“Be that as it may,” Lena sat on a couch armchair, “every media outlet has run the picture.”

“Why is this even a story?” Beatrice sighed. “Sam’s twenty years old. She’s allowed to get drunk on New Year’s Eve if she wants to.” 

“She’s heir presumptive,” Penelope answered. 

“Well, what are they even saying?” Beatrice asked. “It’s not like Sam has never been drunk in public before. I don’t understand.” 

Beatrice picked up the picture. Sam didn’t even look that bad. She’d certainly been caught in worse positions before, with Marshall even. 

“The optics of the first-in-line being drunk at a party while the sovereign is dealing with an attack on an American transport plane aren’t great,” Sean said. 

“She wasn’t drunk!”

Sara flinched, blinking quickly. Beatrice belatedly realized that coffee was spilling down her hand, splattering onto the desk. Lena stood from her spot on the couch. 

“Sorry,” Beatrice said, flinging coffee droplets off her hand. “I didn’t mean to…” 

“Guys, can you give me and Her Majesty a minute?” 

The rest of her staff filed out, leaving Beatrice alone with her chief of staff. 

Lena pursed her cherry-painted lips. “Are you doing okay?”

Beatrice glanced up from where she’d been rifling through her desk drawer for a napkin. 

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?” 

“You had a pretty eventful weekend, Beatrice.” Lena stepped forward to help dab at the spilled coffee. She nodded her head toward Beatrice’s wrist. “You’re starting to worry me, with these injuries.” 

“I don’t even know when this happened,” Beatrice argued. “I was a little busy digging my brother out of —”

“An avalanche, I know. It’s just –” Lena took a deep breath, straightening up. “You have another appointment with Julia on Thursday.” 

Beatrice sighed. She didn’t know why people were making such a big deal out of this. 

“I know, Lena.”

Lena huffed, tossing a coffee-laden napkin into the bin behind the desk. “Beatrice, I’m not trying to nag you. As a chief of staff, I’m concerned for my sovereign.” She arched an eyebrow. “And I’m worried about my friend.”

Beatrice leaned back in her chair. “I understand that.”

Lena’s warm brown eyes held hers for several beats. “Do you?” 

“Your Majesty?” Ben’s knock sounded at the door. “You have a meeting with Minister Brown and his staff in the Star Chamber.” 

Lena followed her into the outer office, where Lucy was waiting to go over the midday press briefing. 

Still irritated at her chief Guard’s meddling in her schedule, an idea for vengeance struck her at the sight of her press secretary. 

“That’s a killer dress, Lucy,” Beatrice said, making a show of looking at the lavender sheath. “Don’t you think Lucy looks great today?” She turned to Mike, who had stepped away from the door to follow Beatrice. 

Mike’s eyes narrowed dangerously. Beatrice’s mouth quirked up on one side. 

“You look nice, Ms. Jacobs,” Mike said, his eyes glancing to Lucy and quickly away. 

Lucy blushed slightly, tucking a blond curl behind one ear. Beatrice saw Lena roll her eyes. She’d feel worse about embarrassing Lucy if her press secretary hadn’t been so dramatic about Beatrice’s weekend. Besides, Mike and Lucy clearly liked each other. They just needed a nudge. 

“I could kill you, you know,” Mike hissed as he walked her toward the Star Chamber, Gina and Colin trailing behind. “Make it look like an accident. They train us for stuff like that.” 

Beatrice tutted. “Threatening the life of the monarch seems to go against the very essence of the Revere Guard.” 

“You could suffer a massive head injury falling off your horse. Or fall into the Potomac on a run and get swept out to sea. Or suddenly develop a fatal allergy to bagels and go into anaphylactic shock…” Mike continued listing ways that Beatrice could meet a tragic end the whole way to the cabinet room. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Thursday Evening**

Beatrice sat cross-legged on the sitting room sofa, drumming her fingers on her knee. She glanced at the clock on the mantle again. She had to squint to make out the hands. It was almost seven. Her wrist was throbbing slightly. She’d forgotten to take a pain reliever at lunch, and she was now behind the pain. She sighed again.

“Good evening, Beatrice.” 

Beatrice stood awkwardly, one leg still bent on the couch, as Julia walked in. Julia smiled slightly.

“I didn’t realize the queen stood for other people,” she said, setting her brown leather tote bag on the floor next to an armchair. She unwound a deep purple scarf from around her neck.

Beatrice shrugged. “I didn’t have an etiquette master for nothing.” She sat back down, her leg tucked underneath her. “Besides, you’ve made it clear that I’m not the queen in here.”

Julia merely grinned again at Beatrice’s slight snark.

“How’s your wrist?” Julia nodded toward the large black brace.

Beatrice shrugged again. “It’s fine.”

“Tell me about your weekend.”

“Sorry?” Julia had been silent for a moment, and Beatrice’s mind had started to wander again. 

“Your weekend,” Julia repeated. “New Year’s Eve? It sounded pretty eventful from what I gleaned from the Nightly News.” 

Beatrice’s brow furrowed. “Don’t you know what happened, then?”

“I know that you were on a mountain when your brother and his friend were injured in an avalanche. I also know that before that, you ordered an airstrike on Moldova.”

Beatrice stared at her, her eyebrows raised. Julia returned the look.

“Believe it or not, Beatrice, I do not spend my days reading up on your activities. Furthermore, the network news never has the full story.”

“That’s for sure,” Beatrice mumbled, picking at the seam in her pants leg. 

Julia latched onto that, because of course she did. “Did the news get something wrong?”

Beatrice sighed. “Princess Samantha wasn’t drunk on Friday,” she looked up at her therapist. “Not that it would matter if she _were_ drunk, but still.”

“You seem upset by the implication regardless.”

“It’s just…” Why had she snapped at Sean? She’d reacted without thinking, which was certainly unusual for her. “Sam has worked really hard. She wasn’t supposed to ever be the first in line, you know?”

“I don’t, actually. What do you mean?” Beatrice glared at her. “I grew up on a farm in Vermont, Beatrice. They didn’t spend a whole lot of time on the line of succession in school.”

“Fair enough,” Beatrice huffed. “This was just never what we were preparing for.”

“Your father dying so young, you mean?”

Beatrice startled slightly at that. She hadn’t ever thought about it like that. She’d always thought of her father’s death in terms of how young _she_ had been. But he was only fifty-five when he’d died. He should have had another forty or fifty years in him. That struck her as incredibly unfair.

“I guess, yeah,” Beatrice replied. “You know the phrase ‘the heir and the spare?’” Julia nodded. “Well, Sam was always the spare.” She didn’t like calling Sam that. Beatrice knew that that was how the royal family worked - a child to be heir, and another in case the first one died tragically. But actually describing her sister as though she were the spare tire in the trunk of a car, needed only in case Beatrice herself gave out, didn’t sit right with her. 

“Anyway,” Beatrice broke out of her reverie. “The way it’s _supposed_ to work, the way it always has worked, for the most part, is that the heir has an heir of their own by the time they have to ascend to the throne.”

“So you had always assumed you would have children before your father died?”

Beatrice considered that. “Well, yes? I’d never actually thought about it that hard, to tell you the truth.”

“You are still quite young.”

“I’m almost twenty-four.”

Julia smiled. “Trust me, Beatrice. That is quite young.” She nodded at Beatrice. “You were angry at the rumors about your sister…”

Beatrice sat up slightly. Had she been _angry_? “I snapped at my staff.”

“When?”

“When they told me about the pictures of Sam. I don’t even remember doing it. They just flinched, and I saw that I’d spilled some of my coffee.”

Julia nodded, as though this was something she’d expected. 

“Lena seemed worried about me,” Beatrice remembered. 

“Why do you think that?”

Beatrice considered this. “She seemed concerned about my wrist? I guess being injured again so soon after the Queen’s Ball…”

“You think she perhaps believes you’ve hurt yourself on purpose?”

Beatrice’s head snapped up from where she’d been watching her finger trace a pattern in the velvet cushion. “Why would I ever do that?”

Julia shrugged. “People do things for a lot of reasons. It’s not always clear.”

“Do _you_ think I’m hurting myself on purpose?”

Julia looked at her for a long moment. “No, Beatrice, I don’t. Although I would like to ask why you’re favoring your right side.”

Beatrice shifted. She hadn’t realized she was being that obvious about it. 

“It’s nothing,” she said. “I fell a few times while figure skating.”

“You figure skate?”

“I used to.”

“Why’d you go skating?”

Beatrice reiterated roughly the same explanation that she’d given Connor. Julia didn’t interrupt to make fun of her, which Beatrice surprisingly found made the storytelling more difficult. 

Julia merely nodded when she was done. Beatrice had preemptively included the bit about crying over her dad, in an attempt to get Julia to gloss over it. Those hopes were quickly dashed.

“Was this the first time you’ve cried about your father’s death?”

“Of course not.”

“How many times have you cried about it otherwise?”

This gave Beatrice pause. “Well, I cried when I first found out.” She didn’t clarify that she really meant when he’d told her about the cancer. She didn’t really count the few tears that had fallen at the hospital. Crying didn’t count as an emotional release if a picture of it was the cover of _Time_ the next week. “And when I visited his grave once.”

“When was this?”

“His grave? I don’t know. Before the wedding sometime.”

“The wedding that never happened.”

Beatrice huffed, sending an exasperated look at her therapist. Julia held up her hands. 

“I suppose that fact isn’t relevant to the matter immediately at hand,” she said. Julia continued to watch her.

“What?” Beatrice asked after a moment. “Still can’t figure out what’s wrong with me?”

Julia kept looking at her. “Beatrice, there isn’t anything wrong with you.”

“Then why am I here?”

Julia smiled. “You don’t need a reason to talk to a therapist, Beatrice. Sometimes it’s helpful to just talk to a neutral third party.”

“That’s not what you’re here for though, is it?”

“If you’re asking if I think there is a reason that the people close to you suggested that you speak to someone, there is.”

Beatrice felt her eyebrows raise. “Are you going to tell me what it is? Or am I supposed to figure it out myself?”

“You have post-traumatic stress disorder.”

Beatrice’s foot banged against the floor heavily as it slipped off the couch. 

“That’s ridiculous,” she said, standing. “You have to go through some kind of trauma before you can have PTSD.”

Julia watched Beatrice pace in front of the fireplace. “How would you describe your father’s sudden death, if not traumatic?” 

“It wasn’t —” Beatrice began. “It’s…” She took several breaths, not understanding what Julia was talking about.

“People’s fathers die all the time!” she blurted, turning back toward Julia. 

“Something being a common occurrence doesn’t mean it can’t be traumatic, Beatrice.”

Beatrice went back to pacing. She couldn’t have post-traumatic stress disorder. That was ridiculous. Assault survivors had PTSD. Soldiers had PTSD. She still didn’t know the details of what had happened overseas to Connor, but she could bet it was a hell of a lot worse than her father dying of cancer. 

“It isn’t a competition, Beatrice.” Julia’s voice broke through, as though reading her mind. “There are no gold medals for trauma. No one’s experiences are more or less valid than anyone else’s.”

“ _Why_?” Beatrice asked after a moment. She’d gone to the window, looking out over the Palace grounds. She could see the river in the distance, black water flowing through the darkness. 

“Why do I think you have PTSD?” Beatrice nodded, still facing away from Julia. “You have insomnia.” She stopped, clearly waiting for Beatrice to acknowledge the statement. Beatrice returned to the couch, sitting on the armrest furthest from her therapist. “You have nightmares more often than you don’t. You have been experiencing panic attacks and feelings of anxiety. You’re having mood swings. You’re snapping at people for things you wouldn’t otherwise snap at.” She stopped for a moment, watching for Beatrice’s reaction. 

“Have you been overly forgetful? Or had difficulty remembering things from your past?” 

Beatrice shrugged. She supposed she had been, now that she thought about it. 

“Why was I fine for a year?” Beatrice still wasn’t quite convinced. “Why is this all happening now?” 

Julia looked thoughtful. “You probably weren’t fine for a year,” she said. “You had nightmares immediately after, correct?” Beatrice confirmed that she had. “And when did they stop?”

Beatrice made a noncommittal noise. She supposed she’d stopped having them when she’d started seriously dating Teddy. She’d always assumed he’d helped her get over her grief. But that didn’t actually make much sense. She couldn’t remember Teddy actually asking about her father ever. He’d been sweet, ordering her brownies, and knowing when she needed a break at events. But was that enough? He had been raised the same way she had — duty above all else. They understood that about each other. But did that matter as much as she thought it did two years ago? Or had that just been an excuse? She startled herself slightly with those thoughts. 

“Physical reactions to trauma can take years to manifest, Beatrice. Sometimes we’re incapable of processing the event until much later. In your case, I’d imagine the trauma has been ongoing.”

“So how do I fix it?” Beatrice asked softly. “The queen can’t have PTSD.”

“Knowing the history of your family, I’d be willing to bet that you are not the first American monarch to experience this.”

This was probably true, at least. 

“You’re not alone in this, Beatrice,” Julia said. “Clearly there are people in your life who care about you very much, or I wouldn’t be here.” 

_Care about the Crown, you mean_. Beatrice shook her head against that intrusive thought. 

“This is all a process, Beatrice. You don’t have to live with post-traumatic stress for the rest of your life. But I’m not going to lie to you,” Julia continued. “Grief for someone as important to you as your father – that’s not something that is going to just disappear. It will dull with time. It won’t hurt so much. But that hole will always be there.”

Beatrice grunted. “You sure know how to cheer a girl up, Julia.”

Julia smiled. “I’m not here to cheer you up, Beatrice. Everything you’re feeling is valid. I’m here to help you work through it. So hopefully you can learn to use your words, rather than smashing dishes,” she added, her eyebrow ticking up ever so slightly.

Beatrice slipped off the armrest, collapsing onto the couch cushions with a huff. “Let’s get started, then.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Monday Morning**

“Jar,” Lena pointed toward her office.

“What? That’s not a jar!” Beatrice protested.

Lena glanced up from her spot on the couch. “No one asked you to go into the history of the Rams franchise for ten minutes,” she gestured toward where Beatrice sat behind her desk, “and yet, here you are.”

“I’m just saying that it’s ridiculous for people from St. Louis to get mad about them moving back to L.A.!” Beatrice argued again, gesturing with the newspaper in her hand. “They were in L.A. from 1946 until 1994! The team was only in St. Louis for twenty years.”

“I’m not even sure how we got on this topic,” Sean piped up, his head bent over his lap. He’d been furiously writing, and then crossing out what he’d written, on a yellow legal pad.

“Because our dear queen is a pathological know-it-all?” Lucy offered.

Beatrice stood, pulling a five dollar bill out of her desk drawer. “I could fire all of you,” she grumbled on her way to Lena’s desk. The jar was now overflowing with various denominations, and if she were being honest, Beatrice was probably the biggest contributor. She just liked knowing things! That didn’t make her a _know-it-all_.

The comments from her staff didn’t actually bother Beatrice. Before Connor, people had rarely felt comfortable enough around her to tease her. The twins did, but siblings didn’t count. Even now, Teddy was usually on the receiving end of her attempts at jokes, rather than making any on his own. She sometimes wondered if he was like that with everyone, or if he just didn’t joke around with _her_.

“Okay,” Penelope said as Beatrice returned. “We’ve got a strategy for the briefings this week.” She handed a packet to Lucy. “We need to hit this hard going into the vote tomorrow.”

The Senate was voting to confirm Judge Alvarez to the Supreme Court on Tuesday. The confirmation hearings had taken place over sixty-seven days, and now that Congress was back from the winter break, there would finally be a vote. 

_Not finally_ , Beatrice reminded herself. Sixty-seven days was a normal amount of time for a Supreme Court nomination. She was just being paranoid. She hoped, anyway.

“It will be fine, Your Majesty,” Sara said. Beatrice cocked her head. “You were doing that thing with your face,” she said, gesturing to her own. 

“What thing with my face? I don’t do a thing with my face,” Beatrice said.

“Not to go over this again, Your Majesty, but you absolutely do a thing with your face,” Lucy said, not looking up from the papers in her hand. “The queen thing.” She put air quotes around “queen.” 

Beatrice hummed. She knew that she trained her facial expressions, but it surprised her a little bit that her staff was so aware of it. This wasn’t the first time they’d pointed it out. 

“We should go over what to do if it doesn’t turn out fine,” Penelope said.

Sara and Lucy groaned collectively. 

“It’s not a bad idea to be prepared,” Lena backed up the communications director. “We don’t want to tempt fate.”

Beatrice’s mouth quirked up slightly as she met her chief of staff’s eye. 

“Senator Williams is still kicking up dust.”

“Senator Williams is a blowhard.”

“Be that as it may,” Lena interrupted. “If the worst happens,” she looked back to Beatrice. “If we don’t get fifty-one votes, we make him say it.”

“Make who say what?” Beatrice asked.

“Williams,” Penelope answered. “Judge Alvarez is enormously qualified. Just as qualified as everyone who currently sits on the bench, if not more. So, there is only one reason that he would refuse to confirm.”

“So, what? We get him to admit he’s a racist?” Sean asked.

“And a misogynist,” Lena said. “If he votes nay, even if we do get the fifty-one votes, I think we make him say it. Make him admit to the country that he thinks a Latina can’t be a Supreme Court Justice, and that a woman can’t be sovereign.” 

Beatrice leaned back in her chair. “That’ll cause a scene.”

Lena met her eye again. “Yes, it will. That’s the point. We can’t let him continue to behave this way and go unchecked.”

“He’s a Senator, Lena.”

“He is. And that means that his job is to represent his constituents, over half of whom are women and fourteen percent of whom are Latinx,” Lena said, maintaining eye contact with Beatrice. 

“I’m just not sure if it’s my job to point that out,” Beatrice replied.

“Then what is your job?” Sean asked, his head still turned toward the legal pad resting on his knee.

Beatrice’s head swung around. It took Sean several moments to realize that his boss was staring at him, her eyebrows raised.

“Sorry, Your Majesty,” he said quickly, straightening his tie nervously. “I didn’t mean anything by that.”

Beatrice nodded. She wasn’t angry at her deputy communications director, but the way he’d asked the question so quickly made her think that perhaps her staff had discussed this without her. _Was_ it her job to call Williams out directly? 

“Your Majesty,” Ben knocked on the door. “You have a meeting with Finance in five.” 

“Think about it,” Lena said as the rest of the staff trickled out. 

Beatrice sighed. “My father always said the sovereign wasn’t political.”

Lena’s brow furrowed. “Your entire existence is political, Beatrice. To pretend otherwise would be a farce.”

“But —”

“Think about the other thing too,” Lena interrupted her. “What Sean said. If you’ll excuse me, Your Majesty.”

Lena had turned and headed back into her own office before Beatrice could react. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sam blinked awake. Sitting up slowly, she realized why. Her sister stood in the doorway, her hand still on the light switch she’d just flipped. 

“Bee, at a certain point we’re going to have to talk about what little sleep you get,” Sam grumbled, her voice still slightly congested from her cold, flopping back onto her pillow. The clock on the nightstand let her know that it was just before four in the morning.

Beatrice didn’t respond, instead climbing in under the covers. She turned on her side, facing Sam.

“Do you think I should call out Williams’ bullshit?” she asked.

“You woke me up in the middle of the night to talk about Senator Williams?”

Sam’s eyes were closed, but she felt Bee shrug. “The vote happens in twelve hours, when else am I supposed to talk to you about it?”

Sam turned on her side to face her sister. “Why are you wondering about this?”

Bee chewed on her lip. “Lena said something to me today. Well, yesterday, I guess.”

“And?” Sam asked after Beatrice was silent for a moment.

“You know how Dad always said that the sovereign wasn’t political?”

Sam nodded, hugging her pillow tighter. Her sister rarely mentioned their father. 

“Lena said to pretend that my existence isn’t political would be a farce.”

Sam watched her for a moment. Beatrice was picking at the zipper on the pillowcase, toggling it back and forth. She still had deep bags under her eyes. 

“You want to know what I think?” Sam still wasn’t used to her sister coming to her for advice like this. It wasn’t the first time Beatrice had done it, but Sam had spent so long feeling ignored that it still startled her. “I think Lena’s right,” she said. “I think that for a long time our family has tried to pretend that we’re above it all, when in reality we’re right in the middle of it.”

Beatrice nodded slowly, her hair going slightly staticky against the pillow. “I think I might agree with that too,” she said after a moment. She flipped onto her back, chewing on the cuticle on her right pinky. Sam reached over and grabbed her hand. It had been years since she’d seen her sister chew her nails – their mother had always said it was a deplorable and disgusting habit – but the nail beds on Beatrice’s hands had been gnarled for months now. 

“I don’t know what to do about that, though,” Beatrice continued, staring at the ceiling. “I’ve already disappointed Dad.”

Sam tightened her hold on Bee’s hand. “Mom didn’t mean that. You know she didn’t.”

“Then why’d she say it?”

“I don’t know, Bee,” Sam sighed. “We’re all a little screwed up about Dad still, I think. She shouldn’t have said that to you, but I’m positive she doesn’t think that’s true.”

Beatrice turned her head toward Sam, pursing her lips. “I guess.”

Sam burrowed closer to her sister. “So, what are you gonna do about Williams? Bust some heads?”

Beatrice snorted through a giggle. “That is my M.O.,” she said. “My staff thinks I should call him out. If he votes nay. Make him say why.”

“What are the consequences?” Sam asked. “For doing that, I mean.”

Bee shrugged. “It’ll piss people off.”

“Add you being a massive people-pleaser to the list of things we need to talk about,” Sam said.

Her sister looked as though she was going to protest, but then closed her mouth again. Instead, she continued to glare at the ceiling. 

“What’s the worst that could happen?” Sam asked again. Beatrice shrugged again, which made Sam roll her eyes. “You do too know, Bee. You’ve been the queen for two years now, don’t act like you haven’t learned anything.”

Beatrice sighed, turning onto her side again after a moment. She still clutched Sam’s hand. “People hate when you point out their prejudices.”

“Tough,” Sam replied. “This country, this _family_ , has let a lot of things slide over the years so as not to rock the boat. Williams is racist, and misogynistic, and so are his supporters. You pretending they’re not isn’t going to change that fact.”

“Dad wouldn’t go after Williams.”

Sam stared at her sister. “Dad’s dead, Bee.”

Beatrice’s brow furrowed. “I know that.”

“What I mean is that he isn’t coming back,” Sam continued. “You’re not holding down the fort for him. He’s gone. _You’re_ in charge.”

Sam watched as Beatrice’s eyes filled with tears. Beatrice wiped quickly at them with the edge of the pillowcase. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

“Don’t apologize for crying, Beatrice.” Sam reached up, brushing hair behind Bee’s ear. It was upsetting to see her sister cry, but a part of Sam was hopeful that these recent displays of emotion were a good thing. Beatrice had never been particularly emotive – Sam could probably count the number of genuine smiles she’d seen from her on one hand. She’d known that their dad’s death had thrown a wrench into things. Her sister had been on the cusp of _something_ two years ago. But Sam supposed being shoved into the role of monarch not even a year out of college would send anyone reeling. 

Sam hid a yawn behind her hand. 

Beatrice sniffled, wiping under her eye with her thumb. “I should let you go back to sleep,” she said, starting to sit up. 

Sam held fast to her hand. “You can stay, if you want.” It really did worry her how poorly Beatrice slept. “I’ll even set my alarm.”

Beatrice smiled, laying back down. Sam stroked her hair, the way their mom did when they were little.

Sam fell asleep watching her sister breathe slowly in and out. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one thing that frustrated me about majesty is that bee's actions could absolutely make sense within the context of what's happened to her and the way she was raised, but the book didn't actually go into that. instead, the book presented it as though bee was 'maturing' into her role as queen, when in reality I think she was deeply affected by her dad's death, and she didn't really deal with that trauma (or anything else tbh, she was a mess that whole book lol). the loss of a parent is a big deal and it's a pet peeve of mine when a book just uses it as a plot point and doesn't handle the emotional weight of that experience.
> 
> chloe is my fave, and her being around is going to be very good for bee.
> 
> happy inauguration day! thanks for reading!!!


	19. Chapter 19

_how deeply are you sleeping_ _  
or are you still awake?  
a good friend told me  
you've been staying out so late  
be careful, oh, my darling  
oh, be careful what it takes  
from what I've seen so far  
the good ones always seem to break_

_sky full of song – florence + the machine_

**Late January 2022**

“ _Queen’s Report Card: as the two-year anniversary of king’s death nears, how is the country’s first queen regnant really doing?_ ” Lucy tossed the _Daily News_ onto the coffee table. “I could kill them sometimes, you know? What a rude headline.”

Beatrice kicked her sneakers up onto the table. Julia had suggested she try exercise as one way to help with her PTSD symptoms. She hadn’t even realized that she had stopped running when her dad died. Beatrice had made the mistake of mentioning that to Lena, who she was pretty sure had set up some kind of schedule among the staff to accompany Beatrice on runs. Even Penelope had joined her a couple times, although she did spend most of the time insisting that she was going to die. 

Beatrice particularly enjoyed when Lucy came with her, because it meant she got a front row seat to Mike trying and failing to hide his massive crush on the press secretary. This morning he’d threatened to toss Beatrice into the Potomac more than once if she didn’t stop suggesting he ask Lucy out under her breath. She’d thought Petey was going to have a heart attack from laughing so hard. 

“Ugh,” Lucy said, drawing out the groan. 

“What?” Beatrice looked up from her iPad, where she’d been scrolling through the BBC headlines for the day. She still had thirty minutes or so before she needed to shower for senior staff.

Lucy held up a copy of _People_. “Another article about your weight.” 

Beatrice rolled her eyes. That had been the press’s latest obsession. She caught sight of a shot from New Year’s Eve as Lucy waved the magazine in the air. 

Beatrice had always been slight, but between her general decrease in appetite over the last several months and her lack of physical activity, she was definitely starting to look a little gaunt. Different press outlets had reported on it – some pointing out that she looked unhealthily thin, others touting it as her being “beach body ready!” She hated it regardless. 

Lucy huffed. “It’s just so _dumb_. How are we this far into the twenty-first century and they’re still writing about women’s appearances?” 

Beatrice shrugged. Her appearance had always been written about, even when she was a small child. God forbid there be an heir apparent that the country didn’t find cute as a toddler. Her middle school years had been particularly painful. She didn’t think there was anything to be done about that. 

Lucy continued to mutter to herself about the dangers of the highlighting of Beatrice’s weight by the press for several minutes. Beatrice had returned to her iPad, but was interrupted by her office door flying open.

“There you are,” Adelaide glided in, her hair in a perfect ponytail, bouncing against the back of her sky blue cashmere sweater. The diamond studs in her ears sparkled in the early morning light streaming in through the windows. “You’re going to Boston this weekend.”

Beatrice’s brow furrowed as she met her press secretary’s eye. “I am?” This was news to her. 

“Yes. We thought it’d be good for you and Teddy to spend some time together.”

_Who’s ‘we?’_ Beatrice thought, not for the first time. “We just saw each other,” Beatrice said. Teddy had come with her to a fundraiser at the National Archives earlier in the week. “And New Years was only a few weeks ago.” 

Adelaide waved her hand. “You know how the public gets, sweetheart.”

This was her mother’s not very subtle way of reminding Beatrice of the other recent trend in the media - her lack of an engagement ring. Lucy had been on a tirade about that too. Lucy had grown up in San Francisco, where getting married before you were thirty was apparently the equivalent of being a child bride. “You’re not even twenty-four!” she’d yelled one morning. “What, they want you focusing on a stupid wedding rather than the national deficit?” Beatrice had done her best to explain that yes, the media would much rather Beatrice walk down the aisle than worry about matters of state. A shot of her in a wedding dress sold a lot more newspapers.

“It’s just…” Beatrice steeled herself slightly. “I was going to watch the game with the twins. Since Jeff can’t—” 

Adelaide cut her off with a flip of her ponytail. “The twins will be fine. Besides, people will expect you to watch with Teddy.”

Beatrice met Lucy’s eye again. The Super Bowl was this weekend, and the Patriots would once again be playing. The Cavalry had failed to even make the playoffs, but Beatrice still had a team to root for – her mom had grown up a fan of the Pats’ opponents, the Falcons. Cheering for Boston was the one thing she’d never really wavered on for Teddy’s sake. Usually, Beatrice just didn’t care enough to kick up a fuss. She couldn’t really explain why this was where she’d drawn the line. 

“The Eatons are having a party. All people you know.”

Beatrice had found that her mother’s idea of _knowing_ a person was a bit different than Beatrice’s, but she wouldn’t pick that fight. 

She glanced at Lucy again, hoping she’d have some plan to get her out of this. Beatrice wasn’t even quite sure why she was so adverse to the idea, other than it hadn’t been presented as an option. 

Lucy shrugged helplessly, clearly unable to think of an excuse. Beatrice sighed, shooting her a small smile. 

“Sure, Mom. Sounds good.” 

Adelaide, who had been straightening the pictures on Beatrice’s desk, beamed. “Perfect.” She smiled at Lucy before floating out through the door again. 

“It’s like you live in a Jane Austen novel,” Lucy said as she reached to grab another magazine off the coffee table. “All of this set up by your families. Can you even be alone with Teddy without a chaperone?” 

Beatrice stuck her tongue out at her press secretary. “Go back to reading about why everyone’s mad at me this week,” she said, tossing a throw pillow for good measure. 

Lucy just cackled and kicked her heels up onto the table. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Beatrice blew out a long breath, watching it vaporize in front of her face. She kicked her foot up onto a concrete bench, stretching her hamstring. Mike jogged in place beside her, Colin and Jake nearby. An armored car idled on the park path to her right – it had been trailing her on this early-morning run. For reasons she didn’t quite know, her security was always just a touch higher when she was in Boston. 

She’d come into town last night. Dinner with Teddy’s family had been pleasant enough. Lewis was still acting weird, no matter how many times she’d insisted that she wasn’t upset with him about the avalanche. She wouldn’t mention to him that the reason she was out running this early was because she’d had a nightmare about that night. 

Beatrice had woken in a cold sweat, her heart racing. She’d been back on the mountain, alone this time. Snow swirled around her. Her brother had been calling her name. She’d started to dig in the snow. The deeper she’d dug, the louder Jeff’s voice had gotten. But she hadn’t been able to find him. The more frantically she’d dug, the higher the falling snow piled around her.

Teddy always slept like the dead, and he hadn’t stirred when she’d slipped out of bed, quickly dressing and heading out of the house. It had been before five in the morning, but Mike hadn’t even looked surprised when she had appeared on the porch in her running gear. 

“You wanna talk about it?”

Beatrice startled slightly. Her Guard hadn’t said a word to her yet this morning. 

“Talk about what?” she asked. 

He nodded toward the sunrise that was slowly appearing on the horizon. “Why we’re out here in the freezing cold at the crack of dawn.”

Beatrice shrugged, pulling her wool headband further over her ears. 

“Who says there’s anything to talk about?” 

Mike rolled his eyes. 

Beatrice took off running again, heading further towards the harbor and away from Walthorpe. 

“You know,” Mike said after several minutes. “If you didn’t want to come to Boston, why didn’t you just say so?”

Beatrice cut him a sideways glance. “Who says I didn’t want to come to Boston?”

Mike returned her look. “So what are we doing out running on a river right now?” 

Beatrice huffed, sniffling slightly in the cold air. “I used to run here while I was at school,” she said. 

Mike was silent. “School,” he said. He was barely breathing hard, which was highly irritating to Beatrice. “I see.” 

Beatrice had no idea what he was talking about. 

“I always wondered why Markham left the Guard so abruptly,” Mike said, drawing Beatrice out of her thoughts again. She’d been trying to figure out a way to not have to make any small talk with Teddy’s friends later. Maybe she could pretend she’d caught Sam’s cold?

“I mean,” he continued, “his new gig sure pays better, but to leave the Guard at not even twenty-five…”

Beatrice slowed to a stop, propping her hands on her hips. She glared at Mike as he continued to jog in place. 

“What are you —”

“Of course,” he cut her off, “I figured it out when we went to Houston.” 

Beatrice knew Mike had an inkling of something after the incident in Telluride, but he hadn’t brought it up since. She wasn’t sure where he was going with it now. She raised an eyebrow. 

“That also helped explain,” he continued, seemingly oblivious to his protectee’s glare, “why you’re such a weirdo with Eaton.” He cocked his head in the general direction of Walthorpe. 

Beatrice stamped her foot. “I’m not a _weirdo_ with Teddy. What are you even talking about?”

“Kid, it doesn’t take a rocket scientist to look at the timing of that whole thing and see what was going on. I don’t just mean with Markham either,” he added. “I should’ve seen it earlier, truthfully. No one magically finds a fiancé that close to their father’s sudden, unexpected death.” 

“We were engaged before that,” Beatrice gritted out through her teeth. _Barely_ , she thought. Their engagement party had been the night her dad had died, after all. _The night I killed him_. That thought ricocheted through her head like a stray bullet. She hadn’t actively thought that in a while. Was she still blaming herself, after all this time? She couldn’t be, could she? Sam had told her it wasn’t her fault, and she’d thought she’d believed that.

“Why are you even bringing this up?” she asked. “What does it matter to you?”

“I do care about you, kid. I’m not just trying to rankle you. Well, not entirely,” he amended. 

“So?” She knew was being petulant, but Mike had an annoying way of getting under her skin. _You need an older brother_ , he’d said. Maybe he’d actually meant that. If only he wasn’t quite so persistent about it. 

“Don’t just do something because you’re supposed to,” he replied. 

Beatrice groaned, tipping her head back toward the gray sky. Why did no one understand that _supposed to_ was why she did everything? She had a duty to the Crown to fulfill. She couldn’t be sure which _something_ Mike was talking about, but it didn’t really matter. Grandmama had said something similar. _Your decisions can be undone, chickadee_. Beatrice took a deep breath, feeling the icy air fill her lungs. They all made it sound so easy. She was barely hanging on as it was, she didn’t need people questioning her actions.

“Boston isn’t that bad,” she said, bringing the conversation back around. 

“A ringing endorsement.” They’d started to run again. Beatrice continued to glare at him. 

“Why can’t you just mind your business?”

“What? You can pester me constantly about Ms. Jacobs, but I can’t —” He stopped talking, likely because Beatrice was doubled over laughing. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, wiping her eyes. “You’ve got it bad.” She started laughing again at the look on his face. “You call her ‘Ms. Jacobs’ even when she isn’t here!”

Mike shoved her sideways into a snowbank. 

“Hey!” she sputtered from the ground, still laughing. “You can’t push the queen!” 

“It was an accident.” It definitely wasn’t. “Get up, you’re buying us all bagels to make up for it being freezing out here.” 

By the time Beatrice, and the various members of her team that traveled with her, were back at Walthorpe, the Eaton family was awake. 

“There you are!” Charlotte exclaimed as Beatrice entered the dining room, a box of bagels in hand. “Why didn’t you tell me you were going on a run? I’d have come with you!”

Beatrice laughed lightly. She in no way thought that running with Charlotte would have been enjoyable. Charlotte would probably turn it into a competition, which Beatrice wasn’t in the mood for. “It was like four-thirty when I left, you wouldn’t have wanted me to wake you up.”

“I didn’t even hear you get up,” Teddy said softly, taking the box from her. Teddy almost never heard her get up, so this shouldn’t be surprising to him. 

“Why so early?” Livingston asked, grimacing. “Cool, chocolate chip!” He grabbed a bagel from the box before Teddy had even set it down.

Beatrice shrugged. “I just like to get a jump on the day.” This was the standard excuse she gave. Few people knew that she actually wasn’t much of a morning person. She would love it if she could sleep all the way through the night. Maybe she wouldn’t be so exhausted all of the time then.

Teddy smiled, kissing her on the head. Beatrice’s mind went back to Mike’s meddling - was she weird with Teddy? What did Mike even mean by _weird_? Their relationship had certainly changed over the last two years, but they were supposed to, right? Teddy was safe, and solid. Marshall had once commented that Beatrice always seemed a little bit bored whenever Teddy was around. Wasn’t love supposed to be kind of boring, though? The monarch didn’t need passion, or sweeping emotions. _But what do_ you _need?_ A tiny part of her brain asked. The part she did her level best to ignore on a daily basis. _It doesn’t matter what_ you _need, Beatrice. What does the_ Crown _need?_ And the Crown needed Teddy, surely. _Didn’t it?_

Beatrice squeezed Lewis’ shoulder as she sat in the chair next to him. She poured herself a cup of coffee from the carafe on the table - it was as weak as ever. She’d been prepared for this, and had already drank a large coffee on the way back with the bagels.

“Head’s up, Mom has a jersey for you,” Lewis said quietly. Beatrice groaned into her coffee. “Sorry. We tried to tell her.” He nodded his head toward Livingston, who was already working on his second bagel. “She’s being weird about it, though.”

“I don’t know what the big deal is,” Charlotte butted in. She was slathering strawberry cream cheese onto a cinnamon sugar bagel, which Beatrice thought was disgusting. “You’re dating a Patriots fan, why can’t you just wear a jersey for a few hours?”

“I’m not rooting for the Patriots today, Charlotte.” Beatrice pasted on a smile. 

“You’re not even from Atlanta.”

“My mom is, though.” Beatrice had already eaten her bagel, but she grabbed another one, if only to give her hands something to do. 

“So, what? Are you still going to refuse to support his team when you’re marr–”

“Charlotte,” Teddy barked. “Knock it off.”

Lewis and Livingston exchanged a glance. Beatrice vaguely remembered Teddy getting angry at Charlotte in Telluride, but she couldn’t remember what for. Something about the coffee?

Her phone vibrated in her pocket. Pulling it out, she saw a text from Lena.

“Let me guess, you have work,” Charlotte said around a mouthful of bagel as Beatrice stood from her seat. 

_What is your damage?_ Beatrice had no idea what she’d done to upset Teddy’s sister. 

“Despite my suggestions, I don’t get to skip the QDB, even on Super Bowl Sunday,” she said, laughing slightly, trying to defuse whatever was going on with Charlotte. Maybe she would just wear the jersey Margaret Eaton had for her, if it mattered that much. 

For some reason, the Guards insisted that she take secure calls in her car when she was at Walthorpe. Mike had waved off her questioning look, saying that the house was hard to sweep for bugs because of the old architecture. When she’d asked how the Eatons’ home would be bugged in the first place, he had just shrugged. She’d gotten the inkling multiple times that Mike didn’t trust the Eatons - he had been particularly aghast when she’d off-handedly mentioned that she’d been surprised that her bedroom had been adjoining to Teddy’s on her first visit to Walthorpe.

“No one told you?” he’d asked, his dark brows furrowing. “That someone had access to your bedroom like that?”

“It’s not that big of a deal. Houses were built like that back then. It can’t be that much of a security risk, can it?”

He’d looked at her like she was an idiot. She was very familiar with this look by now. “It’s not just a _security_ risk,” he’d replied. “You barely knew this guy. The levels of fucked up that that is…”

Beatrice supposed that it was a little odd that no one had mentioned to her that Teddy’s room was connecting. Teddy seemed to think that she should have known about the architectural quirks of the home, which didn’t make a ton of sense when she thought about it. She had been in an unfamiliar place. _Was that on purpose?_ The conversation she’d had with Teddy after stumbling through that door wouldn’t have happened otherwise. Perhaps that was a little too convenient? She shook her head. Mike was making her paranoid. 

Beatrice startled slightly at the sound of her personal phone ringing. She’d finished the QDB call, but had been stalling going back into the house. She was sprawled across the backseat of the SUV, her head leaning against the door and her feet propped up on the opposite armrest. 

“Hi, Ben.”

“It’s Chloe.” 

Beatrice’s face broke into a smile. “Hi, Chloe. Do you need something?”

Ben and Chloe were dog-sitting again. Beatrice didn’t like bringing Franklin on trips. She was maybe being too much of a worry wart about bringing the lab on a plane, but Franklin didn’t seem to mind extended time with a six-year-old who adored him. 

“Ben’s working even though you told him not to.” Beatrice chuckled. She had in fact ordered Ben to take the rest of the weekend off when she’d left Washington yesterday. 

“Can you tell him to stop so we can go play outside?” Chloe whined. “He promised.”

Beatrice heard Ben call for his sister in the background. Chloe must have taken his phone without his permission. 

“Chlo, give your brother his phone back.”

Chloe groaned dramatically. Beatrice heard the sound of small feet clomping on the marble floor, then a loud huff. Chloe had a knack for knocking the wind out of people. 

“Sorry, Your Majesty,” Ben said into the phone. “I didn’t know she knew my passcode.” 

“It’s 041815!” Chloe yelled, from very close to the phone. “My birthday!” 

Beatrice laughed. “Well, now the whole Palace knows your passcode,” she told him. “Seriously, Ben, you’re off for the day. You have plans to watch the game?”

“Your brother invited me and Chloe to watch it here,” Ben replied. “If that’s alright?”

Beatrice’s brow furrowed. “Of course it’s alright. I was going to suggest it anyway.” _Why wouldn’t that be alright?_

“Go Eagles!” Chloe was still very close to the phone.

“ _Falcons_ , buddy,” Ben said. “The Eagles are a different team.”

“Oh,” the little girl said. “Falcon like Sam! Not Eagle like Beatrice.”

A startled laugh erupted out of Beatrice. She hadn’t realized Chloe paid attention to the Guards’ codenames for her and her sister. 

“Her Royal Highness,” Ben corrected his sister. “And Your Majesty.”

“Whatever,” Chloe replied.

“She can call us our names, Ben,” Beatrice said, still chuckling. “So can you, you know. You’re off the clock.”

“Are _you_ off the clock right now?” he asked.

“I suppose not technically, no.”

“Then I’m not off the clock,” he replied. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Your Majesty.”

Beatrice leaned her head back against the window, slipping her phone into the pocket of her vest. She should probably get out of this car so she could go shower - it was almost noon. 

“Still in the car,” Mike said into his earpiece several moments later. He was sitting in the front seat. “Eagle’s stalling.”

“Am not,” Beatrice grumbled. She slowly pulled herself out of the lounging position. “Let’s go, since you’re in such a hurry.”

“Hey, say the word and we’ll go back to Washington.” He held the car door open for her. “We wouldn’t even miss any of the game if we left now.”

Beatrice sighed, looking up at Walthorpe. “You know I can’t do that.”

“Sure you could.”

Beatrice ignored him, heading back into the house.

Once inside, she lingered in the shower, then spent longer than necessary doing her hair. On a typical Sunday, she wouldn’t have even bothered drying it, but she had no idea who was actually attending the Eatons’ party later. The guest list had been vetted by her security team, of course, but Beatrice hadn’t had the capacity to even glance at it. 

Now that her hair was curling in what she hoped looked like effortless waves down her back, she stepped back into the bedroom. Just as Lewis had warned, a Patriots jersey lay across the bed for her. After pulling on a pair of dark wash jeans, she gingerly lifted the jersey. As she’d feared, it wasn’t _just_ a Patriots jersey - it was a Jim Brody jersey. Jim Brody, the franchise quarterback, was admittedly a very good player, but he’d also been involved in a cheating scandal several years ago. The case had been thrown out on a procedural detail, which had irked Beatrice. It had _really_ irked Sam, who had a particularly honed sense of fairness. If she wore this jersey, her sister would never let her live it down.

Beatrice balled the jersey up in her hand and tossed it at the wall, where it fell in a heap on the floor. She flopped down onto the bed with a groan, staring at the ceiling. _It’s just a shirt, Beatrice. It’s not that big a deal_. 

Sitting up slowly, she picked the jersey up off the floor with her fingertips. She glanced briefly at the fireplace, wondering if she could pretend she’d stumbled and accidentally thrown it into the blazing fire. She shook her head. Margaret would definitely know something was up. 

“It’s not a poisonous snake, Bee,” Teddy said from the doorway.

“Venomous,” she said, still glaring at the shirt. Teddy’s brow furrowed. “If you bite it and you die, it’s poisonous. If _it_ bites _you_ and you die, it’s venomous,” she explained.

Teddy chuckled lightly, heading for his wardrobe in the corner of the room. “I don’t know what your issue with Boston sports teams is, anyway.”

Beatrice narrowed her eyes at his back. “Excuse me, my ancestors were proud Virginians. New England is our sworn enemy.” 

“You have no problem rooting for Philadelphia when they’re not playing Washington.” 

“That’s because I feel a kinship with their city’s sense of internal rage,” she mumbled, slipping the jersey over her head quickly. This was hindered slightly by the brace still on her wrist, but fortunately Teddy was still turned around and didn’t notice her flapping around. “Plus, they hate Pittsburgh too. The enemy of my enemy.”

Teddy turned around, having slipped his own jersey over his head. Beatrice was at least relieved that it wasn’t a Brody jersey - she didn’t have it in her to match today. 

“Whatever you say,” he said, coming to stand in front of her. He took in her outfit. “I’d wear a Washington jersey if you asked me to.”

Beatrice huffed as she retrieved her shoes from next to the bed. “Am I not wearing the stupid thing?” She gestured at her chest. “And I wouldn’t ask you to wear a Washington jersey anyway. It doesn’t matter to me what franchise you support,” she grumbled.

Teddy sighed, putting his hands on her waist. “Well, you look good in it.” He leaned down to kiss her, lingering slightly. “You could always wear one of my old jerseys,” he said with a small smile.

Beatrice suppressed a groan. She patted him on the chest. “Cute idea, but no.” 

“Worth a try.” He kissed her on the cheek. “You coming downstairs?”

She nodded. “In a sec. I need to check in with Lena.”

There had been a time where Beatrice probably wouldn’t have recoiled at the idea of wearing Teddy’s old high school jersey. She’d have jumped at it when they’d been on their not-honeymoon trip, or in the months following. Now it just annoyed her. That wasn’t Teddy’s fault – she was pretty sure he’d been mostly joking anyway – but Beatrice didn’t have the energy at the moment to examine what she was truly irritated at. 

She laid staring at the ceiling for about as long as she thought she could get away with. She had actually checked in with Lena, but that hadn’t been strictly necessary. Nothing was going on at the Palace that needed Beatrice’s immediate attention, despite her pleas for Lena to find some disaster she needed to deal with.

Finally, after a half hour or so, she trudged downstairs. Kickoff was soon, and guests had been arriving all afternoon while Beatrice hid upstairs.

“See! Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Charlotte said as she spotted Beatrice’s jersey. Beatrice felt an overwhelming urge to grab a hold of a lock of Charlotte’s sleek blond hair and yank as hard as she could. She repressed this urge by taking a glass of sangria off a passing tray. Beatrice made eye contact with the catering server who carried the tray of dark red cocktails. She was probably in her late teens, and she shared a bemused look with Beatrice before moving on. Beatrice quickly trained her face back into queen mode – she couldn’t have waitresses noticing that she was feeling murderous toward her boyfriend’s sister.

She muddled through the first half of the game, managing to avoid talking to any one person for that long. She’d suffered through the excruciating experience of having a room of people watch her while the national anthem was sung on television. It was like not knowing what to do with your face while having ‘Happy Birthday’ sung to you, dialed to eleven. She’d tried to get Mike’s attention during this, begging with her eyes for him to just shoot her and put an end to the humiliation. No such luck.

Typically her Guards stayed outside the house during the day when she was at Walthorpe, but Mike had informed the Duke and Duchess that his presence was nonnegotiable at this party. He stood in a corner, scanning the room with watchful eyes. 

Beatrice was fading a tad by the third quarter. She’d been awake since four in the morning, and the only real food she’d ingested all day was a bagel and a half. She’d cut herself off after one glass of sangria, and was now sipping on a Diet Coke in an attempt to stay awake. 

“Your Majesty!” 

_Oh no, please don’t be who I think it is_ , Beatrice thought. Unfortunately, it was exactly who she thought it was.

“Mr. Dalton!” she said, pasting a smile on her face. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

Her eyes quickly scanned the room, looking for Teddy. Had he known Dalton was here and not warned her?

“I had some business out here in Boston, the Duchess was kind enough to extend an invitation,” Dalton explained. 

Beatrice grimaced at the television as the Falcons wide receiver fumbled, hoping Dalton would take the hint and not attempt a deep conversation. 

“I was glad to hear you’d be here,” he continued anyway. 

“Oh?” Beatrice asked, still looking away from him.

She saw him nod out of the corner of her eye. “All this business with Senator Williams has certainly put a kink in things.”

At that, Beatrice gave Dalton her attention. “What business with Senator Williams?” 

It had turned out that her staff had been prepared for nothing - Senator Williams voted yea on Justice Alvarez’s confirmation, leaving Beatrice with no reason to go after him.

“Well, that press secretary of yours,” Dalton began. _Watch it_ , Beatrice narrowed her eyes an infinitesimal amount. “These comments she’s been making at the briefings, they could hurt the chances of my pipeline getting through committee!” He laughed in that way that big men always did. As though no one had ever said no to them. 

“I’m not quite sure what you mean, Mr. Dalton.” Lucy had made one or two remarks about a good chunk of Senator Williams’ campaign funding coming from the oil industry, but that wasn’t anything unique or surprising. He wasn’t even close to the only senator who had those ties.

“The implication that there is anything untoward going on between my company and the senator is ridiculous.” Beatrice noted that Dalton had straightened slightly, trying to make himself taller. A flicker in her peripheral vision let her know that Mike saw it too. 

Beatrice cocked her head. “I don’t believe there were any implications made, Mr. Dalton. Ms. Jacobs was merely informing the public of a fact. Your company has made numerous campaign contributions to the political action committee that funds Senator Williams, and you yourself have made personal contributions as well.”

Dalton’s face reddened. “As is my right as a citizen of this country.”

Beatrice hummed. “Yes, the Supreme Court has made that determination,” she said. “And those contributions are public record,” she added. “Ms. Jacobs was merely relaying them to the press. Of course, anyone could submit a Freedom of Information Act request and obtain that information otherwise.” She was keeping her voice light, mainly in an attempt to get Dalton to leave her alone, but she also didn’t want to cause a ruckus at the Eatons’ party. That would be the last thing she needed.

Dalton puffed out his chest. “I have never received such treatment from the Palace. Your father was always –”

“His Majesty King George, you mean?” Beatrice snapped. Dalton was not on such familiar terms that he could refer to her dad by anything other than his regnal name. She shook her head slightly. She’d never snapped at someone like Dalton.

“Of course,” Dalton stammered. “I meant no offense.”

Beatrice’s eyes narrowed. She opened her mouth to speak again, but was startled by the sensation of liquid spilling down her front. _Not again_ , she thought, before realizing she hadn’t been the one to spill all over herself. A gasp came from somewhere to her left. 

“I am so sorry, Your Majesty!” It was the waitress from earlier, who’d handed Beatrice the sangria before the game. “Please forgive me! Here, let me help.” She held her hand out to Beatrice. Her eyes darted toward the hall to the kitchen. 

Margaret Eaton started toward them. “That is the queen!” 

Beatrice rolled her eyes. “Thank you, I’d appreciate that,” Beatrice said to the waitress, stepping away from Dalton. “Mr. Dalton, if you’ll excuse me.”

She grabbed the waitress’ arm, steering her away before Margaret could yell any more obvious statements. 

“I am really sorry,” the waitress said as they walked toward the kitchen. “It’s just, you looked like you were going to hit him if someone didn’t step in. I guess I could have come up with a better plan than throwing sangria on you,” she grimaced.

Beatrice laughed. “Not at all! Good thinking on your part. Got me out of talking to Dalton _and_ I can take this stupid jersey off.” She pulled the jersey away from her body, laughing in delight again. “I’m Beatrice, by the way.” 

“I know,” the waitress said, returning her handshake. “I mean, not that I _know_ you, I just -” she shook her head. “I’m Annie.”

Beatrice smiled. “Nice to meet you, Annie.”

Mike appeared behind them as they entered the kitchen. “Gina’s getting you a new shirt,” he said to Beatrice. He gave Annie a hard look. 

“She’s alright, she was saving me from Dalton,” Beatrice assured him with a wave of her hand. 

Annie’s eyes had gone wide at the sight of Mike. Beatrice was so used to his presence that she hardly noticed it, but she supposed he did look intimidating. She knew he could bench something like four hundred pounds, and his biceps showed it. 

“Cool it with the Guard Glare, would you?” She poked him in the shoulder. “Your powers would have been better used against Dalton anyway.” 

Mike snorted. “Kid, if you didn’t hit him, I was going to.” He glared in the direction of the party. 

“Was he on the guest list?”

“Last minute addition,” he said gruffly. 

Gina appeared with a couple of Beatrice’s shirts in hand. She held them both up for inspection. 

“That one,” Beatrice took a white button-down from her Guard. “Thanks, Gina.”

Annie took the jersey from her as Beatrice slipped it over her head. Fortunately, the sangria hadn’t soaked through to the camisole she wore underneath. 

“Are you from Boston, Annie?” Beatrice asked as she buttoned her shirt. 

Annie shook her head. “Pensacola. I go to Harvard, actually. I’m a freshman.”

Beatrice perked up. “Really? Housing Day is coming up, right? You have a block yet?”

Annie smiled. “Yes, Your Majesty. We linked up too. We’ll know in a couple weeks where we’re gonna be.”

“I’ve always been partial to Lowell, myself,” Beatrice winked. While she hadn’t really kept up with any of her housemates from Harvard, Beatrice had really enjoyed that aspect of the school. She was with the same people from sophomore to senior year, which gave her a slight sense of normalcy. By their last year, her housemates had been used to Beatrice and no longer did any awkward half-bows or curtsies in the hallway. 

“The catering company is owned by one of the girls on my floor’s mom,” Annie explained at Beatrice’s glance at her uniform. “I work on the weekends. Helps my parents with the textbook costs and stuff, you know?” she shrugged. 

Beatrice actually didn’t know. She’d never been the one to order her textbooks in college. It was handed off to a Palace secretary. She’d never even seen a bill for them. They just appeared in her dorm each semester. 

“Your Majesty,” Petey appeared in the doorway to the kitchen. “Ms. Crawford called. You’re going to need to return to Washington early.”

Beatrice felt her mouth stretch into a smile. 

Mike rolled his eyes. “We could have just _not come in the first place_ ,” he said under his breath. 

Beatrice ignored him. “Annie, it was very nice to meet you,” she grasped her arm. “Thanks for saving me. I owe you.”

Annie stood up slightly, opening her mouth then closing it. “Actually,” she started, before shaking her head. Her short brown hair fell into her face. 

Beatrice cocked her head. “Actually?” she prompted. 

“It’s nothing, Your Majesty.” She waved her hand. “Below your pay grade.”

Beatrice raised an eyebrow. 

“It’s just…” Annie took a deep breath. “My older brother’s a veteran. Marines. And he lost his leg? In that explosion at the embassy in Niamey?” Annie’s voice went up at the end of each sentence. “He’s doing really well,” she continued, seeming to try to reassure Beatrice. “But he’s had some trouble with all of the red tape at the VA? He’s been trying to get a better prosthetic for his type of amputation, and he keeps getting told different things. I was just wondering if maybe you knew who he could call?” She shook her head again violently. “Sorry, of course you don’t. I’m sure you don’t deal with clerical things like that.”

Beatrice put a hand on Annie’s shoulder. “You’re right that I don’t typically handle this type of thing, but give me your brother’s name and number and I’ll figure it out for him.”

Annie’s head shot up. “You really don’t have to do that, Your Majesty. Forget I even asked, that was incredibly rude.”

Beatrice turned to Mike. “You have a pen?” She looked back at Annie. “It’s not rude at all, Annie. If you can’t ask the queen, then who can you ask?”

“Yeah, but –”

“Annie,” Beatrice cut her off, holding the pen and paper that Mike had found out to her. “Write it down.”

Beatrice made a relatively quick exit after that. Margaret tried to stop her, but was quickly diverted by Livingston bumping into a bust of Benjamin Franklin. He’d shot her a wink as his mother turned to scold him for nearly knocking over the antique. That had allowed Beatrice to sneak out the side door with her suitcase. 

She’d sent Teddy a hand signal from across the room – he’d been deep in conversation with the Mayor of Cambridge – that she had to go. She assumed he’d understood, since he’d merely nodded in response. From there, it was relatively easy to hop into the armored SUV, head to Hanscom Air Force Base, and take off back to Washington.

“What?” she asked Mike as she typed Annie’s information in a text to Ben.

Mike turned back to face the front. “Nothing, kid.” Then, after several beats, “You know, it’s great that you help people like that,” he jerked his head back toward the shrinking Walthorpe, “but you can help more than just the people who happen to be lucky enough to wait on you.”

Beatrice’s head tilted sideways. 

“You’re the queen.” Beatrice still didn’t quite see where he was going with this.

“I just mean,” he continued. “That while you’re helping this guy with his prosthetic, you could maybe see what the bigger issue is. Healthcare for veterans shouldn’t require personal intervention from the queen.” He let a long stream of air out. “Healthcare for _everyone_ should be easier than that,” he added quietly.

Mike didn’t tend to talk to her about politics, so this sudden statement surprised her somewhat. She nodded, looking back down at her phone, Mike’s words tumbling around in her mind. Sean’s words to her from several weeks ago leapt forward. _What’s your job, Beatrice?_ Maybe the people around her had a point. She’d hired her staff to bring the monarchy forward – was she doing enough? Was she really accomplishing what she wanted to? 

Beatrice leaned her head against the car window, closing her eyes as the streets of Boston flew past. It was times like this when she really wished she had someone who could just tell her if she was doing all of this right or not. _Too bad, Beatrice. You’re on your own._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bee is thiiiiissss close to snapping and I for one can't wait. 
> 
> the fact that no one noticed that bee and connor were making eyes at each other for like a year shows to me that no one in the palace paid any attention to beatrice lol. as mike points out, it's really not that hard to make the connections there. also, the whole scene in Majesty where bee's bedroom is adjoining to teddy's drove me Insane. she should've been pissed that no one told her! did they not give her a tour first? I for one would not have been comfortable with a guy I'd only known for about three months having that much access to where I was sleeping, even if it was someone as seemingly harmless as teddy.
> 
> thanks for reading!!!


	20. Chapter 20

_one for the money, two for the show_

_I never was ready so I watch you go_

_sometimes you just don’t know the answer_

_till someone’s on their knees and asks you_

_“she would’ve made such a lovely bride_

_what a shame she’s fucked in the head,” they said_

_champagne problems – taylor swift_

**February 2022**

Nina pulled her bright yellow Jeep around the back of the Palace. She’d just gotten off the train from New York – she’d had an interview for a summer internship at NPR. It wasn’t her first choice, but she still had her fingers crossed that they’d liked her. 

Climbing out of her car, she looked up at the Palace. She knew she was being theatric, but the building seemed to have a somber air about it that evening. It had been two years to the day that the king had died. Nina had turned down an offer from a high school friend to party in the city tonight. She didn’t feel right not being here for Sam. _And for Jeff_ , a small voice whispered in her mind. She shook her head, reaching into the backseat for her overnight bag. 

Nina walked toward the building, passing several members of the Palace security team. The protective detail around the Palace and the queen had increased several-fold in the past year or so. As she came around the side of one of the outdoor pools, she heard a voice. 

“I’m fine. Why wouldn’t I be fine?” Nina recognized the voice as the queen’s. Beatrice sounded irritated, which piqued Nina’s curiosity. She knew she should leave, but the only way to emerge from where she was still hidden behind a hedge was to walk straight through the pool area. Beatrice, and whoever she was talking to, would spot her for sure. 

“It’s been two years,” Beatrice said. “I can lay a wreath at his grave without having some kind of breakdown.”

It took Nina a moment to realize that Beatrice must be on the phone. She couldn’t hear anyone responding to her. 

Nina had seen a replay of the queen laying a wreath at the king’s grave earlier today. Beatrice had appeared unwavering, as usual, her spine perfectly straight as she walked through Arlington National Cemetery. Someone in the train terminal had commented nearby that Queen Beatrice was “so strong” for her performance at the cemetery. Personally, Nina thought it would have been just as strong for Beatrice to have had a full screaming fit at _her father’s grave_ , but maybe that was just her. She couldn’t imagine losing either of her moms. 

“I said I was fine,” Beatrice snapped loudly, startling Nina. Who was she talking to, anyway? Teddy? Nina knew he hadn’t been a part of the ceremony at Arlington earlier, but Beatrice tended to keep him out of anything official.

She heard Beatrice sigh heavily. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. No, I shouldn’t snap like that. It’s not you. I just…”

There was a rustling and the click of heels, as though Beatrice had sat down. There were benches all along the side of the pool. 

“It hasn’t been the best of days,” Beatrice continued. “I didn’t sleep last night, and I couldn’t get my stupid hands to stop shaking at the cemetery, and I was worried the press would notice, and —”

Nina listened as Beatrice took several deep, practiced breaths. 

“I really am doing okay now, though,” she reassured whoever was on the other end of the line. “ _Yes_ , I ate dinner. There were even some vegetables involved.” Nina suppressed a laugh. For someone as regal as Beatrice, she sure had the palate of a toddler. 

“Oh!” Beatrice exclaimed suddenly. “You’ll be proud of me! I learned how to make scrambled eggs!” 

Nina smiled at Beatrice’s tone. Who knew how excited the Queen of America would be about learning to cook a food with one – maybe two if you were fancy – ingredients? 

“It’s very complicated! Do you know how many knobs are on a stove? Well, obviously you do, but still.”

One of the French doors opened, and Nina heard low speaking. 

“Ben’s summoning me. I’ve got to go talk the ambassador to Armenia off a ledge. I’ll talk to you later?” The heel clacking had resumed, but stopped suddenly. “Hey. Thank you for calling,” Beatrice said, her tone going impossibly soft. “I’m sorry that I was —”

Whoever was on the other end had clearly cut her off. 

“ _Okay_ , I will. Tell Kaela good luck on her critique for me.”

Beatrice’s voice faded, and Nina heard the doors open and shut. Safe to emerge from her spot behind the hedge, she quickly made her way through the grounds and up to Sam’s suite. 

“Hey!” Sam leaped up from her spot on her couch, hugging Nina tightly. “How’d it go?”

Nina inspected her best friend’s face. Her eyes were slightly red, but otherwise she seemed to be doing alright.

“It went well, I think!” Nina hedged. “They didn’t ask me anything about any of you, or my mom, so that was good.”

Sam pulled her down onto the couch. “I’m sure they loved you, Neen. I’ll miss you when you’re in New York this summer.” She smiled widely, nudging Nina with her shoulder.

Nina snorted. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.” She looked at the array of snacks on Sam’s coffee table. “I see we’re going all out tonight?” There were chips in every flavor, French onion dip, salsa, and a bowl full of chocolate that definitely looked like it had been stolen from someone’s Valentine’s Day stash. 

Sam handed Nina a bag of salt and vinegar chips. “I needed an old-fashioned slumber party. Expect face masks and chick flicks and a lot of gossip. I invited Bee, but she’s still working so who knows how long she’ll be.”

“Yeah, something about the ambassador to Armenia,” Nina said without thinking. Sam looked confused. “She was on the phone outside when I drove up. I know it’s probably a national security issue to eavesdrop on the queen –”

“I do it all the time.”

“But I didn’t want to interrupt,” Nina looked at Sam. “I’m not even sure who she was talking to. I thought maybe Teddy?” She shrugged. “But to be honest it didn’t really seem like it was him.”

“Why do you say that?” Sam reached for the Cheetos. 

Nina considered this. “I know I don’t spend a ton of time around Beatrice, especially when she’s with Teddy, but she doesn’t really…She sounded more like she was talking to a friend, I guess.”

Sam’s brow furrowed. “My sister doesn’t really have friends.” She leaned back into the pillows. “I mean, she talks to her staff, and her Guards, but –” She stopped abruptly, her eyes going wide. “ _Oh_.”

“Oh?” Now Nina was lost.

Sam waved her hand. “Nothing. It was probably just someone she knows from Harvard.” Sam reached behind her, grabbing her laptop off of the side table. “Now, on to more important things. Which first? Sleepless in Seattle or Notting Hill?”

“Notting Hill, for sure,” a male voice came from the doorway.

Sam looked surprised to see her brother. “I thought you were going out?”

Jeff walked into the room, leaning on his cane. He still had several more months before he’d be walking unassisted. 

He flopped down into one of Sam’s armchairs, propping his leg up onto the coffee table. “Matt threatened to lock me in my suite if I tried.” He held up his cane. “I’m not as steady on my feet as I usually am with this thing. Last time I added alcohol to the mix wasn’t pretty.” 

Nina watched as Jeff’s head flopped back onto the headrest. He stared at the ceiling. She searched his face for signs of distress. He _seemed_ okay, but he shared his eldest sister’s knack for faking it. 

As though he had read her mind, Jeff’s head lifted off the chair. “Where’s Beatrice?”

Sam tossed a heart-shaped Reese’s cup at her twin. “Working.”

“Shocking,” Jeff replied around a mouthful of chocolate. He picked up his cane again, using it to point at Nina. “ _You_ had an interview today.” He arched a dark brown eyebrow at her, making his resemblance to his sisters very obvious. 

Nina nodded. She was a little confused by this version of Jeff. He was acting just as he had before – back when they were friends, before the crash and burn of their brief romantic relationship. Nina had missed the gentle ribbing they’d always given each other. But could she just go back to the way things had been so easily? She supposed it _had_ been a while since that had all gone down. If Jeff wanted to move on and be friends, then maybe she should too. 

“NPR,” Nina said, nodding. “It went well, I think. I’ve never written for radio before though, so I don’t know.”

Jeff popped a tortilla chip into his mouth, crunching loudly. “You should talk to Beatrice. Like half of her and her staff’s job is writing speeches.”

“That’s a great idea, actually,” Sam grabbed her arm. 

“Don’t be so surprised I had a good idea,” Jeff stuck his tongue out. 

Nina chuckled. “I’m sure Beatrice has better things to do than talk to me about writing for public speaking.” 

“She’d love to,” Sam squeezed her arm. “Penelope and Sean are the masters, you could probably shadow them for a day or something.”

“Would you get to do any of the radio parts yourself?” Jeff asked. 

Nina shook her head. “Usually the interns don’t appear on-air.”

“Bummer. You could have had Beatrice teach you all of the weird vocal warm-ups to keep your voice from cracking.” Jeff grinned. “Who knew there were so many tongue-twisters?”

Sam leaned forward, setting up her laptop on the coffee table. Nina had been confused at first why they didn’t just have movie nights in the Palace theater, but Sam had insisted that watching DVDs on her computer in her suite made it seem more like a normal sleepover. Nina didn’t have the heart to point out that the four-hundred-dollar throw pillows on Sam’s couches kind of ruined that illusion. 

“Alright, everyone shut up,” Sam said, clicking play on the menu. “No talking over Julia Roberts.”

Jeff leaned further down in his chair, kicking his socked feet up onto the armrest next to Nina. She wrinkled her nose dramatically, which he responded to by sticking them closer to her face. Nina tossed a pillow at him. He caught it easily, propping it behind his head.

“Children, settle,” Sam admonished as she tucked a fleece throw around them both. Nina smiled, burrowing further into the sofa. 

Some time later, Nina woke slowly to the sound of the _Sweet Home Alabama_ DVD menu. Lifting her head, she saw Sam and Jeff still asleep. She grinned at the sight - they were each sprawled in identical positions, snoring softly.

When they were younger, Nina had been fascinated by the concept of twins. Despite being fraternal, Sam and Jeff so often mirrored each other. They used to annoy Adelaide constantly by speaking simultaneously. 

Looking over at the coffee table, Nina saw that there were several jars of salsa and dip sitting out. The twins wouldn’t care, but Nina’s household had always been fervently anti-waste. She stood from the couch and quietly gathered the perishable foods, slipping out of the room and heading towards the kitchens.

She smiled at the two Guards standing outside the swinging doors, failing to connect the dots before she entered.

“Your Majesty!” Nina stopped short at the sight of the queen. She had flour in her hair, and was violently hitting what looked like a block of butter with a rolling pin. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize…”

Beatrice chuckled, setting the rolling pin down. “Nina, I’ve known you since you were ten. You don’t ever have to call me ‘Your Majesty.’”

Nina grimaced. “Sorry, I know.” She held up the salsa jars. “I was just coming to put these away. I didn’t know anyone would be in here.”

“Especially not me, right?” Beatrice quirked an eyebrow.

“To be honest, no,” Nina said, laughing. She emerged from the walk-in fridge. “What are you doing, anyway?”

There was flour everywhere, and Nina had been right about the butter. The light in the oven was on, and she could spot what looked like pastries inside. “I didn’t realize you baked.”

Beatrice laughed loudly. “I don’t, really.” She sighed. “Someone suggested I try to find a hobby that didn’t have anything to do with my royal duties.” She picked up the rolling pin again, smacking the butter into a flatter shape. 

“So that led to making puff pastry in the middle of the night?”

“I somehow managed to graduate from Harvard without knowing what a colander was, so…” She gestured around the kitchen. 

Nina glanced into the oven. “If you were going for croissants, I think you’ve succeeded.”

Beatrice smiled. “Cooking doesn’t usually go as well,” she said with a chuckle. “Baking gives me detailed instructions. Creativity has never been my strong suit.”

Nina hovered next to the island, not quite knowing what to do. She and Beatrice weren’t close necessarily, but a part of her wanted to make sure she was alright. There was a bit of a manic air around her as she continued to bring the marble rolling pin down onto the counter, as though if someone lit a match she might ignite. 

Beatrice must have noticed this hesitation. “You can go back to Sam, if you want.” 

It was the “if you want” that settled it for Nina. “She and Jeff are passed out,” she said, pulling a stool out from the pantry. “If it’s okay with you…”

Beatrice just smiled. “Sorry I didn’t join tonight,” she said. “I didn’t think I’d be very good company.” She stuck the butter back in the refrigerator, then started sifting flour over the counter.

Nina watched Beatrice roll out dough for several moments, not quite knowing how to respond.

“How’s school going?” Beatrice asked. Clearly Beatrice wasn’t interested in talking about why she wouldn’t have been good company.

“It’s good,” Nina replied. “I had an interview at NPR earlier today for a summer internship.”

“That’s awesome!” Beatrice looked up at her. “Those are pretty competitive, right?”

Nina nodded. “Yeah. I think it went well, but I’m sure there are people more qualified than me.” _There are definitely people more qualified than me_ , Nina thought.

Beatrice snorted. “I’m not qualified for my job,” she said. “I’m sure you’re a much better journalist than I am a queen.”

She shook her head violently, her ponytail flipping back and forth. “Sorry, ignore me. I told you I was in a mood tonight.” She started folding the dough over the rectangle of butter. “Tell me more about school.”

Nina started talking about her classes, professors she liked – and those she didn’t – and her classmates. Beatrice listened attentively, rolling out and folding dough with methodical movements. She asked questions about Nina’s friends, and laughed when Nina recounted the story of Rachel meeting Jeff.

“I think I’d like this Rachel,” she said. “My brother deserves to have goldfish named after him. He forgot his own birthday the other day.”

By this point, several batches of croissants had been removed from the oven. 

“Here,” Beatrice said, sliding a tray closer to Nina. “You get to be my unbiased taster tonight. Petey and Colin are on strike.” She nodded her head toward the doors where her Guards were stationed. “Petey said I was going to make him fat with all of these carbs.”

Nina giggled. The Guards all had maybe eight percent body fat, she doubted a few baked goods would undo that.

“Be honest,” Beatrice reminded with a glare as Nina took a bite.

Chewing slowly, Nina did her best to channel her inner Mary Berry from the Great British Bake Off. “You got pretty good lamination on these. Nice flavor.”

Beatrice chuckled at Nina’s serious tone. “So I won’t poison any of my staff with these?” she asked. “Not that that’s necessarily a dealbreaker,” she added.

Nina smiled, shaking her head. She was always surprised at how _funny_ Beatrice was. She didn’t come off as a joker. “You’re safe.” 

Beatrice looked pleased. Nina watched as she spent several minutes cutting out dough into the requisite shape for croissants. 

“What?” Nina asked finally. Beatrice’s lips had been pursed, as though she was holding in her words.

Beatrice shook her head. “Nothing. It’s none of my business.”

Nina tilted her head.

“You don’t have to answer,” Beatrice said with a pointed look at Nina. She sighed. “It’s just...Can I ask what happened between you and Jeff? I know I wasn’t the most attentive sister back then, but you both seemed happy.”

If she was being honest, Nina hadn’t even thought that Beatrice knew about her and Jeff’s relationship. Nina didn’t judge her inattentiveness – she’d had a lot going on back then, and it didn’t help that Sam, and Jeff to an extent, had treated their older sister like a pariah. If Nina had been her, she wouldn’t have paid much attention to her siblings either. 

“Oh, you know.” Nina shrugged. “It just didn’t work out.”

“Did you not love each other?” Beatrice asked, blowing a wayward curl off her face. “Sorry, or _like_ or whatever,” she amended. “I didn’t mean to assume…”

Nina smiled, waving her off. “I’d been in love with Jeff for years.” She was a little surprised she was telling the queen all of this. But something in Beatrice’s face told her that she was genuinely interested in what Nina had to say. “But with the press and everything…” Nina trailed off. “It was made clear to me that I wasn’t who Jeff was supposed to end up with in the long run.”

Beatrice’s brow furrowed. “Made clear by whom?”

Nina shrugged. “Just people, I guess.” Despite Daphne never having been anything but terrible to Nina, she’d feel like a tattle tale ratting her out to the queen. Although, based on the scene she’d walked in on on New Year’s Eve, maybe Beatrice was familiar with Daphne’s antics. 

If possible, Beatrice’s brows furrowed even further. “Did we offer you any protection during all of that?” she asked. “The Palace, I mean. With the press.”

“Not really,” Nina admitted. “Lord Standish came to the house, and he was kind about it, but –” She stopped abruptly, jumping up to grab a towel off the counter. At the mention of Lord Standish, Beatrice’s hand had jerked, slicing the back of her hand with the pizza cutter she’d been using on the dough. 

“Thanks,” Beatrice said sheepishly as she took the towel from Nina. “They should really put me in a bubble.”

“Should I get…” Nina nodded toward the doors.

Beatrice waved her off, checking under the towel. “It’s not bleeding that much. I don’t think it’s deep.”

“Back to Lord Standish,” Beatrice said, tying the towel off around her hand. Her tone had gone slightly colder. “You said he came to your house?”

“He was nice about it,” Nina assured her. Although judging from the look on her face, there wasn’t any love lost between Beatrice and her father’s Lord Chamberlain. “But he said because I wasn’t a member of the royal family, the Palace couldn’t provide me any actual protection. I think your father had asked him to come.”

Beatrice nodded, her face softening slightly. “Dad liked you.”

“To be honest, it wasn’t that the Palace couldn’t…” Nina trailed off again, unsure if she should continue with that thought. Beatrice watched her quietly. “I knew that I wasn’t going to be popular with the public,” she continued. “But I guess I’d just thought that _Jeff_ would have done a little more, you know? I mean, I can take care of myself. I didn’t need him to pick fights with people who were being mean online or anything.” She took a deep breath. “I guess I just thought he’d fight a little harder for us,” she said, a little dejectedly. _Way to sound pathetic, Nina_.

Beatrice continued to watch her. Her face seemed almost sad. Her eyes darted toward her phone on the counter, although it hadn’t rung as far as Nina could tell. 

“That might be a family trait,” Beatrice said under her breath. Then, louder, “We should have done more for you, Nina. I saw some of what people were saying, it was awful. That won’t happen again, I promise.”

“Oh, it was a long time ago,” Nina said. “Jeff and I aren’t going to get back together or anything. You don’t have to worry about it.”

One side of Beatrice’s mouth quirked up. “Okay, Nina.”

Just as she was about to ask what Beatrice was smiling about, a swinging door flew open. 

“It’s almost two in the morning, you need to – what did you do _now_?” Petey asked, gesturing helplessly at Beatrice’s hand. A little bit of blood had seeped through the towel. 

“Pizza cutter,” was all Beatrice said. “Save yourself,” she said, turning to Nina. “I’m about to get scolded.”

“If you would just stop trying to slice body parts off, then we wouldn’t have to keep having this discussion!” Petey said. “Lawson is going to murder all of us.”

“Are you sure you don’t want help cleaning up?” Nina asked. She wasn’t sure what Beatrice’s Guard meant about her trying to slice body parts off. Sam had mentioned that Beatrice had been even clumsier than normal for the last several months. Nina couldn’t help but wonder if the fact that Beatrice seemed to only sleep a few hours a night factored into her lack of coordination.

Beatrice waved her off. “I’m the one who got flour everywhere. Go on.”

“Nina!” Nina stopped and turned, her hand on the door. With her hair in a messy ponytail, and no makeup, Beatrice looked incredibly young. “Thanks for hanging out with me. I know I’m not that fun to be around.”

Nina shook her head. “That’s not true.” Had Beatrice always been so hard on herself? “Night, Beatrice.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Three days later**

Beatrice groaned loudly. She pulled the sleeves of her sweater further over her hands. It was freezing in her office - she was shivering so badly that she couldn’t hold her pen steady. Her signature on this letter was hardly legible.

“Ben!” she called out the door. “Can you call down and ask what is up with the heat? Why is it so cold in here?” she asked as her aide appeared.

Ben glanced toward the fire roaring in the grate. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

Lydia appeared in the doorway, a large stack of cards in her hands. “Your Majesty, Queen Adelaide requested that you sign these personally. The mail room will do the rest with the auto pen.” 

Beatrice huffed. “Thanks, Lydia.”

She’d been glaring at the stack of cards, each placed inside a pale blue envelope, for several minutes when her office door creaked slowly open. Franklin, who had been asleep at her feet under her desk, immediately perked up, his tail thumping against the wood floor.

After scanning the room, Chloe hurried toward the desk. Without preamble, she climbed onto Beatrice’s lap. 

“I made this for you,” she said, holding a piece of pink construction paper in Beatrice’s face. Chunks of pink and purple glitter fell all over the desk. 

Moving Chloe’s hands further away from her, Beatrice saw that Chloe had drawn two stick figures, one taller than the other, and what she was pretty sure was a dog. The taller stick figure was wearing a shirt with a large ‘H’ on it.

“That’s you,” Chloe pointed. “And that’s me, and Franklin.” The dog’s tail thumped again at the sound of his name. 

Beatrice smiled. “Is that a Harvard sweatshirt?”

Chloe nodded. “We’re ice skating,” she said, pointing again. Now that she looked at it closer, Beatrice supposed she could see that there were blades on the stick figures’ feet. Ever since Chloe had found out that Beatrice knew how to figure skate, she’d been asking if she could teach her. Beatrice had promised she’d find some time, but so far hadn’t followed through.

“Is this your way of reminding me that we need to go skating?”

Chloe turned in Beatrice’s lap, her brows drawing together. “I drew it for your birthday!” she said, pointing to the picture again. Beatrice realized that what she’d thought was an ear was actually a conical party hat on Franklin’s head. “Benny said it’s today.” She stopped, looking around her office. “Why don’t you have any balloons? Mommy always got me balloons.”

Beatrice laughed. “My mom isn’t big on balloons.” Even when the Washington siblings were kids, Adelaide had been very finicky about birthday decorations. 

Ben stuck his head into the office. “Chloe, you’re supposed to ask before you come in here.”

“She was alone! I checked!”

Beatrice grinned at her personal aide. “She’s alright, Ben,” she reassured him. He tended to worry that his little sister was too comfortable running around the Palace. “Chloe was just giving me a drawing she made.”

“It’s her birthday!” Chloe pointed over her shoulder, narrowly avoiding poking Beatrice in the eye. “You should get her balloons!” 

“I don’t think balloons would look very regal, Chlo,” Beatrice said.

“What’s regal mean?”

“Royal.”

Chloe harrumphed, crossing her arms over her chest. “That’s stupid. I wouldn’t want to be royal if it meant no balloons.”

Ben groaned, knocking his head against the doorframe in frustration. “Chloe.”

Beatrice chuckled. “I need to get back to work.” She poked the little girl in the side. “Thank you for the card. I love it.”

Chloe turned, rising on her knees in Beatrice’s lap. She threw her arms around Beatrice’s neck, squeezing tightly. “Happy birthday!”

She winced slightly at the loud voice in her ear, returning Chloe’s hug. 

After Chloe skipped out of her office, she pulled the stack of cards back toward her. Flipping the first one open, she saw that it was a thank you card for a birthday present that she would probably never even see. Sighing, she picked up her pen. Hopefully the maintenance staff would fix whatever was going on with the heat soon. No matter how many layers she put on, she just couldn’t get warm, and it was starting to get irritating.

Her staff came in and out throughout the rest of the afternoon. There were rumblings of impending issues at the Post Office, spurred on by Congress’ latest antics regarding pensions. Lena and Penelope were gearing up for a fight. Beatrice wasn’t quite sure what it was that she could do about any of it – she supposed there was always the veto power, but Congress hadn’t actually passed anything yet. Lena had reminded her that one of her many duties was to appoint the Post Office Board of Governors, but Beatrice didn’t see how that was relevant. The only nominations she’d made during her reign had been due to either resignation or death. The Board of Governors had all been her father’s appointments.

The sun had long since set, which was not helping the heating situation. If anything she was colder now. She kept jiggling her leg up and down in an attempt to generate some body heat. Beatrice was startled out of her thoughts by a harsh knock at the door. She looked up as Mike’s head appeared around the door.

“Head’s up, kid. Eaton is –” 

He stopped abruptly, looking back behind him. Before Beatrice could ask why, she got her answer.

“Happy birthday!” Teddy said with a smile as he stepped around Mike and into her office. 

Beatrice’s held tilted slightly. He’d said he had to attend a board meeting with his father tonight. She’d been fine with that, and had told him that she would probably just watch a movie with her sister or something. She wasn’t in a particularly celebratory mood.

“Hi!” She stood, hoping that was a smooth recovery. “Those for me?” She nodded at the red roses in Teddy’s hands. They were pretty, although not Beatrice’s favorite. _It’s a nice thought, Beatrice, snap out of it_ , she scolded herself.

He looked around her office. “I figured I’d be adding to a pile of bouquets…”

“Oh,” Beatrice flopped her hand around. “I told Lydia to keep everything downstairs. It gets distracting.”

She had in fact told Lydia to send any flower arrangements to local hospitals and funeral homes. She didn’t need them, and didn’t particularly want them either. 

“You okay?” Teddy asked. “You’re shivering.” He set the flowers on a side table, then took one of her hands in both of his. 

“Fine,” she huffed. “It’s been freezing in here all day.”

Teddy’s brows knit together. “It’s like eighty degrees in here, Bee.”

 _Is it?_ Maybe that’s why Ben had seemed so flustered when she’d complained again an hour ago. 

“Huh.” Was the only thing she could muster in response. “I thought you were busy tonight?”

Teddy smiled. “Got done early. You didn’t think I’d leave you alone on your birthday, did you?”

“I wasn’t going to be _alone_ , Teddy,” she said, slipping her hand out of his grasp. Walking back to her desk, she started packing her bag. She still needed to review a couple of briefs from Housing and Urban Development, but she could do that in her suite. 

“You want to order dinner or something?” she asked. “I’m not that hungry, but…”

Teddy reached forward, grabbing her tote bag off her desk before she could. Her first instinct was to snatch it back, but she stopped herself. _He’s just being nice, what is up with you today?_

“Already handled,” he said, putting an arm around her waist. “Come on, birthday girl.”

Beatrice tried to relax into him. Whatever weird mood she was apparently in wasn’t Teddy’s fault. 

Mike held the office door open for them. He looked more irritated than normal. Maybe her mood was contagious. 

“Is there someone who could take your bag to your suite?” Teddy asked, his eyes going toward Jake and Gina. 

“That’s not even close to being in their job description, Teddy,” Beatrice said quickly, before Mike could murder him for even thinking of suggesting that a Guard schlep her bag around the Palace. Ben came around his desk, taking Beatrice’s tote. She mouthed her thanks at him. “Where are we going that I can’t have my bag, anyway?”

“Just downstairs.”

Beatrice had never been all that big on her birthday to begin with. She didn’t like all of the attention, and there was even more pressure on her to appear like she was having a good time. Add the fact that the day was now forever marred by the memories of preparing for her father’s funeral, and it was one of her most dreaded days of the year. Surely Teddy knew that, right? They’d done something relatively small last year, since it was so soon after her coronation, but it had still involved a lot of forced smiles and a brief panic attack in the bathroom. She hadn’t even known that’s what it had been at the time - she’d thought there was something medically wrong with her. 

Sam and Jeff, who had both had events to attend all day, had each texted her birthday wishes. Marshall had messaged her a gif from _The Office_. The “It is your birthday.” sign had earned a small chuckle from her. It was about the extent of her acknowledgement of the day. Even her staff had been relatively low-key about it. Based on the looks that Lena had shot the rest of senior staff this morning, there had been some kind of discussion about not overwhelming Beatrice with well wishes. 

Beatrice looked over her shoulder, trying to catch Mike’s eye. Why did he seem so annoyed? He was glaring at the back of Teddy’s head when he noticed her glance. He put each of his index fingers at the sides of his mouth, motioning for her to smile. Confused, she turned back, realizing they were at the main doors to the ballroom. 

_Oh, please don’t tell me…_

“Surprise!” The split second of warning from her Guard meant that Beatrice managed to train her features into what she hoped seemed like happy shock, and not terror. Or worse, anger.

Flashbulbs went off, causing bright flashes of color to appear behind her eyelids. She couldn’t see between the cameras and the decor, which seemed reflective for some reason, but judging by the chorus of voices there were quite a few people in the room. 

She’d been standing still slightly too long, so she turned into Teddy, hugging him quickly. 

“I had no idea!” she exclaimed, telling the truth. “When did all of this happen?” _Actually, when did all of this happen?_ It was difficult to keep a secret from the queen. That explained Mike’s anger – whoever had planned this clearly hadn’t read her personal Guards in on it until the last minute. None of her Guards would have kept this quiet from her.

“Your mom was the mastermind,” Teddy gestured behind Beatrice. _Of course she was_. 

“Mom!” Beatrice turned toward Adelaide, giving her the briefest of embraces. “You shouldn’t have!” 

_Really, you shouldn’t have_.

“Happy birthday, darling.” Adelaide kissed the air next to her cheek, avoiding smearing her with lipstick. 

Glancing around, Beatrice started to get her bearings. The ballroom did look nice, although it wasn’t a party theme she would have chosen. Of course, she wouldn’t have chosen _any_ party theme. Curtains of red roses were draped along the walls, and over the banisters of the sweeping staircase. The guests were all decked out in their finery - not full evening wear, but formal nonetheless. Now that she thought about it, Teddy was more dressed up than usual. He didn’t typically wear three-piece suits to board meetings, as far as she knew.

“Your Majesty,” the Duchess of Boston appeared, sweeping into a practiced curtsy. “Happy birthday!”

“Yes, indeed!” Thomas Eaton came to stand next to his wife. “Quite fitting, our country’s first queen sharing a birthday with our country’s first king.”

And there was the other reason Beatrice had never much liked her birthday. February 22nd. Despite her efforts to remind people that George Washington I had originally been born on February 11th, and that Britain’s adoption of the Gregorian calendar twenty years later is what had moved his date of birth, everyone loved to point out the connection. As though Beatrice didn’t have enough to live up to.

Beatrice smiled, turning back to her mother. “I need to head to my suite, it looks like,” she said. “I’m not dressed for a party.” She gestured down at her olive green pantsuit. She really liked this outfit, but it certainly wouldn’t pass Adelaide’s dress code.

“Not to worry.” Adelaide steered her toward a side door. “I have your outfit in the Brides Room. No need to go all the way upstairs,” she said, cutting off Beatrice’s hopes of an escape route.

Beatrice spotted Allie waiting outside the door. She dipped into a curtsy. 

“I’ll leave you to it,” Adelaide squeezed her arm, before floating back to the ballroom.

“I’m all good, Allie,” Beatrice said to the Palace page. She held up her left arm, which was now brace-free. “I can manage on my own.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

Beatrice walked into the room, shutting the door firmly behind her. She was pretty sure that Allie would remain outside, just in case the queen required assistance. 

Glancing around, Beatrice spotted a cream-colored dress hanging next to the mirrors. She plucked at the fabric with her fingers. It was midi-length and floaty, strapless, with a sweetheart neckline. The silk organza overlay would have a pretty effect when she moved. 

Beatrice plucked the hanger off the hook on the wall. She turned to look in the mirror, holding the dress up underneath her chin. She’d look nice in it.

_Just put the dress on, Beatrice. Make some small talk, blow out some candles. It’ll be fine._

Noticing that her makeup didn’t look quite as polished as it had this morning, Beatrice thought she had another potential out. That thought was quickly vanquished, however, when she saw that her mother had had her makeup bag brought down. At least she wasn’t having to deal with a makeup artist tonight. 

Beatrice continued to look at herself in the mirror. At the angle she was standing, her reflection caught at the corners of the panels, creating hundreds of Beatrices. Infinite Beatrices. 

The dress floated to the floor. She hadn’t realized that her hands had still been shaking, and the hanger clattered softly against the rug as it slipped through her fingers. She wobbled on her heels as she bent to pick it up. 

Standing up straight again, she closed her eyes. _Take a breath, Beatrice. You’re fine. Pull it together._

Opening her eyes again, the other Beatrices continued to stare back at her. Her hands were still shaking violently. Her heartbeat pounded almost painfully in her ears.

 _Why should you have to pull it together? This was sprung on you._ The voice that lived in the back of her head said. 

_Mom and Teddy think they’re doing something nice,_ she argued back.

 _Do they?_ The voice wouldn’t let up. 

_Of course. It’s my birthday, they want to celebrate. There’s nothing wrong with that._

_Seems they could have asked you first, rather than creating a situation where you can’t say no._

_That’s not –_

_Because that’s what they always do, isn’t it? And you never say no, because you’re too scared to stand up for yourself._

The sound of glass shattering startled her. The mirrors splintered in front of her, large pieces falling and crashing to the floor. One of the mirror panels swayed dangerously.

An arm wrapped around her waist, spinning her away from the wreckage. A hand on her shoulder lowered her into a chair, then pushed her head between her knees.

“Deep breaths, kid.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Mike reholster his sidearm. 

An enormous thud, followed by a crunching sound, made clear that the panel had fallen off the wall. Beatrice seemed to be making a habit of this.

After several moments, Beatrice lifted her head slightly. Mike was watching her intently. She looked down at her hands. They were clean, no new cuts or abrasions. _So what happened to the…_

A Waterford crystal swan, which usually sat on the side table, was in the middle of the glass splinters on the floor. 

“Did I…” she gestured at the swan, miming a throw. 

Mike nodded, his eyes not leaving her. “I’m assuming. You’ve been a powder keg all day.”

Beatrice sniffled, wiping at her face. Her fingers came back wet. “How long have I been crying?” she asked, almost to herself.

“You were crying when I came in,” Mike said quietly. He knelt in front of her. “No one read us in about that,” he gestured in the direction of the ballroom. “We would have told you.”

Beatrice bobbed her head up and down slightly. “I know. That’s probably why no one read you in about it.” She took another deep breath. “Assuming no one bothered to tell my staff either.”

Mike chuckled slightly. “Chloe would have told you in a heartbeat.”

Beatrice coughed out a laugh. Her hands were still shaking as she ran them through her hair. She linked them behind her neck, her elbows on her knees.

“I’ve been doing everything Julia has suggested,” she said softly. “I’ve been running again. I’m trying to remember to eat. I even got a weighted blanket. I’ve cut down on the caffeine in the evening,” She sniffled again. “Why is this still happening?”

Mike shrugged. “It takes time, kid. You’re not going to feel better overnight.”

Beatrice sighed heavily, her fingers still linked behind her head. 

_Maybe it’s time to confront_ why _you’re so upset_ , the voice returned. _You’re never going to get better if you keep running from it_. Sometimes the voice in the back of her head was annoyingly wise.

She looked up at her Guard. “Can we go to Arlington?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bee is finally reaching her tipping point. have faith in yourself, bee! listen to that voice in your head! 
> 
> beatrice went from being 21 in AR to being 22 in the prologue of Majesty, which could have a few explanations. either I missed a mention of her birthday happening in AR (very possible lol), the author and editor just missed the age discrepancy, or bee's birthday happened at the same time as her dad's death. for maximum drama, i'm going with the latter explanation. i may be a little off in regards to how much time passed in AR, but I think they were definitely at least in mid-February, and since the OG George Washington's birthday is then, I liked the connection.
> 
> thanks for reading!!!


	21. Chapter 21

_and I hate to make this all about me_

_but who am I supposed to talk to?_

_what am I supposed to do_

_if there’s no you?_

_soon you’ll get better (feat. the chicks) – taylor swift_

It had been a while since Sam had been this angry. In fact, she couldn’t remember _ever_ being this angry.

She barely registered the doors being opened for her as she stomped into the ballroom, her coat billowing dramatically behind her. Scanning the crowd, she found her target quickly.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Several gasps sounded from nearby, but Sam didn’t care to lower her voice. “What is all this?” She gestured around the room. 

Teddy’s eyes had gone wide. “I don’t…” He shook his head. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Have you suffered a concussion lately?” People were staring. “In what _world_ is this something that she would want?”

Caleb had informed her of the surprise party that was apparently taking place for her sister back at the Palace. She’d been in the car with him and her chief of staff, Silvia, on the way back from an event at the Children’s Hospital in Baltimore. She was still in her outfit for the day, the pale blue dress and navy coat a stark contrast to the other partygoers. 

“I…” Teddy stammered again. His eyes darted around the ballroom. “It’s her birthday.”

Sam felt an overwhelming urge to shove Teddy through the window behind him. 

“She _hates_ her birthday, you idiot,” Sam hissed. “ _Especially_ now.”

Teddy looked dumbfounded. “She’s never said –”

He stopped abruptly at the same time Sam felt a hand wrap around her elbow. She knew who it was.

“Samantha, that is enough,” Adelaide said quietly. “To make such a display at your sister’s –”

“Where _is_ my sister?” Sam asked, pulling her arm out of her mother’s grasp. “She seems conspicuously absent from her own birthday party.” She continued to glare at Teddy, who was wilting slightly under her withering gaze.

Adelaide looked around quickly. “Oh,” she said, “it would appear she hasn’t finished changing. I left her in the Brides –”

Sam was moving before her mother was finished. Pushing her way through the guests, she hurried through the door that Caleb held open for her. 

“Bee?” she called out, knocking on the door to the Brides Room. “It’s me, can I come in?”

Sam tried knocking again, harder this time, and received no answer. Checking the hallway, she realized that the queen’s Guards were nowhere to be found. Turning the brass doorknob, she eased the door slowly open. 

She gasped quietly, stepping into the room. Glass was everywhere. One of the mirror panels had come off the wall completely, and was lying halfway across the raised platform in the center of the small room. If someone had been standing there, it would have crushed them. Sam’s feet crunched as she walked further inside, bending to pick up the small crystal swan that lay among the wreckage. It was solid and heavy, about the size of her fist. 

“Please be careful, Your Royal Highness,” Caleb said from the doorway. 

Sam straightened, the swan in her hand. “Is she alright? You’d know if something happened, right?”

Caleb nodded. “Her Majesty is fine.”

She scanned the room again. There wasn’t any blood on the floor, or on any of the furniture. A filmy cream dress lay among the shards, an almost eerie sight. Judging by where she’d found the crystal figure, someone – her sister, from the looks of it – had thrown it full force at the mirrors. _But why?_

“Samantha, this is really quite –” Adelaide stopped short, taking in the room. “What on earth is going on here?” She glanced at the swan in Sam’s hand. “What did you do?”

Sam let out a harsh laugh. “I hate to burst your bubble, Mom, but it wasn’t your problem child who did this,” she said, placing the swan back on the side table. “Where is she?” she asked Caleb.

Adelaide held up her hand, stopping Caleb from answering. “What do you mean? Your sister did this?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Sam thought she’d mumbled this quietly enough so that her mother wouldn’t hear. “What do you mean, it isn’t the first time?” Adelaide stepped further into the room, seemingly unaware of the danger posed by the glass to her sandaled feet.

Sam shook her head. “It’s nothing, Mom. Don’t worry about it.” She made to step around her mother.

Adelaide shot her hand out, turning Sam by the arm. “All I do is worry about the three of you.”

Sam snorted. “Sure have a funny way of showing it.”

Sam expected a sharp retort from her mother. It was what she was prepared for. What she wasn’t prepared for was Adelaide’s eyes glowing with unshed tears. “I suppose I deserve that,” she said, looking away from Sam. She still held her arm. 

Sam stood in stunned silence. She felt like the air had been knocked out of her – she’d been geared up for a fight. Not for whatever this was.

“She broke some china,” Sam explained softly. “That’s all I meant.”

Adelaide looked back at her, her perfectly arched brows drawing together. “When? What china?”

Sam considered not telling her. It was Bee’s business, really. But she also knew that Beatrice hadn’t brought it up with their mother. Beatrice probably hadn’t even figured out why she’d done it in the first place. Maybe telling Adelaide would be the nudge she needed. 

“The night of the Queen’s Ball,” Sam said. She held her mother’s gaze. “The kitchen staff accidentally brought up a box of the wrong china for the dinner service. Bee found it, and got upset.” Sam took a breath before continuing. “It was the china you’d picked for her wedding. That she’d asked to be –”

“Donated, yes.” Adelaide’s head tilted, causing her hair to fall gracefully over one shoulder. Sam had always been jealous of that. Her hair would never be so well-behaved. “I remember. I told the staff to keep it, just in case. Why would that upset her?”

“It was a simple request, Mom. And you ignored her.” Sam shrugged. Adelaide continued to grip her arm, her thumb drifting back and forth. 

“Is that what she did to her hands?” Sam and Adelaide both jumped. Clearly her mother hadn’t noticed Teddy in the doorway either. “The china?”

Sam nodded. She couldn’t deny it. Teddy would know she was lying.

He sighed, looking down at his feet. “She told me she had a migraine that night.”

“In her defense,” Sam offered, “I think she did actually have a migraine, too.”

Teddy put his hands in his pockets, shuffling his feet. Sam almost felt bad for him. She knew her sister was having a hard time, but it wasn’t entirely Teddy’s fault that he didn’t know what was going on. Beatrice was so good at hiding her emotions that even Beatrice herself didn’t know what they were half the time. Teddy could still _ask_ her how she was doing every now and again, though.

“Come on, both of you.” Adelaide guided Sam toward the door. “Go back to the party,” she told Teddy. “If anyone asks you where Beatrice is, you tell them that she was called away to handle something with the General Accounting Office. No one ever asks follow-up questions about the GAO.” 

Sam smiled. Her mom was good at this. Teddy was turning away, when the door to the ballroom opened again. 

“Oh!” Margaret Eaton exclaimed. “I was just coming to ensure that Her Majesty was alright.”

Sam rolled her eyes. Margaret Eaton could not care less about Beatrice’s well-being. She was probably coming to spy. Sam saw Caleb’s eyes narrow. Her Guard must not think much of Mrs. Eaton either.

“She’s fine, Mom,” Teddy said, offering his arm. “Crisis at the GAO.” He led Margaret back inside, glancing briefly over his shoulder at Sam. 

“I should go find Bee,” Sam said.

Her mother shook her head. “I’ll go.” She ran a hand down Sam’s hair. “Go find your ne’er-do-well brother, would you? Tell him what’s going on.”

Sam glanced briefly at the ballroom doors. “What about the guests?”

“They’ll eat and drink on our dime,” Adelaide waved her hand, “then get bored and leave. The staff will see them off.” She turned to Fred, who’d been standing quietly outside the Brides Room door. “Now, where is my eldest?”

Sam watched her mom float down the hallway with wide eyes. Jeff was never going to believe that she’d left a party without a host. Sam pulled out her phone, sending an S.O.S. to her twin. They needed to get to work on fixing Beatrice’s evening.

Making her way down the corridor, she spotted one of the sitting rooms ajar. The table in the center was piled with gifts, much like the night of Beatrice’s engagement party. Sam knew that Bee had ordered for all of the flower arrangements that had been sent throughout the day to be distributed, and she assumed these gifts would meet a similar fate. 

“Jason!” Sam called to a passing footman. “Are these all from guests tonight?”

“No, Your Royal Highness. Any packages with Her Majesty’s mail code were placed in here as well. I believe Mrs. Bennett was waiting for word from Her Majesty’s staff before removing them.”

Sam nodded her thanks, then stepped into the room. Giving the table a quick once over, she saw that most of the gifts were wrapped in expensive paper. The typical fare for a royal birthday. There would have been a time where Sam would have swiped a few of them, just because she could. Now they made her sad for a different reason. For all of the people who’d sent the queen a birthday gift, very few of them actually knew her sister. It struck Sam how incredibly lonely Beatrice must feel at times like these. 

Just as she turned to leave, a small brown package caught her eye. She plucked it off the table, examining the return address. 

Smiling, Sam tucked the package under her arm. She had a feeling that her sister would want this one. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wet grass squelched underneath Beatrice’s sneakers as she walked. In another act of Guard stealthiness, they’d managed to get her up to her suite for a change of clothes and out of the Palace without anyone spotting her. Jeans and her oversized Harvard sweatshirt were a much more comfortable outfit for traipsing through a cemetery at night.

Arlington National Cemetery looked the same as ever. The Tomb of the Unknown Soldier remained guarded, as it always did. Rows and rows of gleaming white headstones stretched out before her. The lights of Washington blinked in the distance. 

She’d just been there three days earlier, but it felt like an eternity. Perhaps because she hadn’t felt like she had really _been_ there. The photo op of laying a wreath on the former king’s grave was more about the public than it was about her. 

Sighing, she sat down on the ground, crossing her legs underneath her. The wreath she’d laid was still there. 

“Hi, Dad.” She felt a little ridiculous talking to a headstone, but she figured she had nothing to lose. Her Guards were spread out, flanking her, but far enough away that they wouldn’t be able to hear her if she spoke quietly.

“I, umm…” How to start? “I’ve been having a bit of a day. Bit of a year, really.”

She decided to start with the changes she’d made to the Office.

“I hired a new staff. No more Lord Chamberlain. Did you know Standish was such a dick? I mean, I’m sure you didn’t, or you wouldn’t have hired him, but still. He’s a dick. He convinced Congress not to invite me to closing because I wasn’t married yet. Like being married would somehow make me more worthy of respect.”

She took a deep breath.

“Did _you_ think that?” she asked the question that had been gnawing at her ever since her parents handed her that stack of folders. “That night when I came to you…”

_Not even two minutes and you’re already crying._ She sniffled for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts.

“I haven’t been able to talk about that night. I keep having the same nightmare over and over again. Of you collapsing in your study. All I did was cry for help, like some scared little girl. I mean I know in my head that you had stage four cancer, but…I should’ve _done_ something, right? I could’ve done something, instead of leaving you alone at the hospital.” She choked on her tears. “I left you alone and I’m so sor –” 

She gulped down the lump in her throat. The sleeves of her sweatshirt had quickly become grimy with snot. Beatrice wiped under her eyes, trying to regain some grasp on her thoughts. 

“I think…” she took a shuddering breath. “I think maybe part of the reason I’ve been so unable to talk about it though is that I don’t want to admit how _angry_ I was with you that night.”

There it was. Now that she’d said it out loud, the words started flowing more easily.

“I needed my dad. And instead I got the king.” She paused, staring into the distance. “You knew, didn’t you? When you and Mom made that list of eligible suitors, you already knew that you were sick.” 

She’d never thought about it, but that must be the truth. Her parents had never shown that much interest in her love life – the few dates she’d been on had been perfunctory, and when they’d asked how they’d gone, both of her parents had shrugged and said that there were plenty of fish in the sea. Beatrice should have known that something was going on. The father she had known wouldn’t have done what he did. 

“How long _did_ you know?” she asked. “About the cancer? Were you feeling sick before? You got an annual check-up, did the doctors just miss it? Did _I_ miss it?”

Should she have insisted that he go to the doctor more often? Had he been showing signs of the illness that she should have noticed? She’d been with her father nearly every day for the six months before his death – how had she missed that he’d had cancer? Was she too focused on her own problems? Was she too selfish and immature to think of people other than herself?

“You thought I couldn’t do this on my own, didn’t you?” she asked the headstone. “That’s why you made that list, and insisted I choose one of them. And when you told me you were sick…

Were you trying to be manipulative?” Beatrice hated thinking that of her father, but she couldn’t escape it. “When you said you wanted to walk me down the aisle. I’d only known Teddy for five minutes, you had to have known I wasn’t ready for that. I had never even had a boyfriend before.”

She knew that she hadn’t been honest with her father that morning. He’d assumed that she was happy because of Teddy, when the truth had been that she had barely even felt friendship for Teddy at the time. They’d hardly known each other – she wasn’t even sure she knew his siblings’ names then. Any looks of happiness she’d had on New Year’s Eve that year had been entirely because of Connor. 

Should she have just told her father that? The morning he’d told her about the cancer, should she have just said that she didn’t have those kinds of feelings for Teddy, and that she wasn’t getting married? That she loved her dad more than anything, but walking her down the aisle wasn’t something she was going to be able to give him?

“Why did you think I had to get married, Dad? Is it because you didn’t want to leave me alone? Or is it because you agreed with Standish? That a queen on her own can’t rule effectively?”

She knew she was never going to get an answer to that question. And maybe it didn’t matter. She hadn’t gotten married, and she liked to think she was doing just fine as queen on her own. Did it do her any good to focus on her father’s reasonings for urging her quick marriage? He was gone. 

Tears were freely flowing down her cheeks now. She had no idea how long she’d been sitting out there. The cold of the grass was seeping through her jeans, and her coat and sweatshirt weren’t quite enough to keep the chill out. Nevertheless, she had no desire to get up and go back to the Palace. Sitting out here with her dad was the calmest she’d felt in weeks.

“Oh, sweetheart.” 

Beatrice’s head shot up from where she’d been resting it on her bent knees. 

“Mom!” She started to get up off the ground. “I’m sorry I left the –”

Adelaide shook her head, stopping Beatrice with a hand on her shoulder. As if seeing her mother out here wasn’t enough of a shock, Adelaide sat down on the ground next to her. Designer dress and heels and all. Beatrice had always been in awe of her ability to walk through grass in stilettos without sinking into the dirt.

Her mother wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into her chest. Beatrice froze slightly. This was not the reaction she’d expect from Queen Adelaide – skipping out on her own birthday party was the height of improper hostessing, even if it had been a surprise party.

“Mom?” Beatrice asked quietly. She felt her mother sigh, her chest lifting. 

Adelaide began to stroke a hand through her hair. “I had no idea that you haven’t been doing well,” she started. This answered Beatrice’s question of whether her mother had seen the Brides Room. “Which I suppose is my own fault. You’ve always been my tough kid.”

That surprised Beatrice. She’d never considered herself very tough.

She nudged Beatrice’s head up, cradling her cheek in her hand. “I’m sorry that I went against your wishes about the wedding china. I didn’t realize that it would upset you so badly.”

Beatrice wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “I just thought that that had all been donated…”

Adelaide shook her head, her earrings tinkling slightly. She reached down to grab one of Beatrice’s hands, turning it over. She ran her thumb over the scar from the gash there. Her eyes filled with tears. She blinked them back quickly, setting her eyes on her husband’s headstone. 

A slight burst of annoyance at her sister went through Beatrice, but it died quickly. Beatrice should have told their mom about the china herself – keeping these things to herself clearly wasn’t working, if her flinging a crystal figurine at a mirror was any indication.

“I am so mad at your father,” Adelaide said. “I miss him every day.” She looked back at Beatrice, holding her gaze. “But good lord, I would strangle him if he were here,” she laughed slightly, shaking her head. She turned her head back toward the marble. “We were supposed to be a team, George. Hiding cancer from me is not being a very good teammate.”

Beatrice watched her mother. She supposed that Adelaide had just as much to say to him as she had. She felt tears prick her eyes again, remembering the morning her father had told her that he was dying. 

“I should have told you,” Beatrice said quietly. “He asked me not to, but I should have –”

“No, honey.” Adelaide held her face with both hands. “That’s on your dad. What he asked of you was inexcusable.”

Beatrice sniffled. She had never heard her mother speak against her father that way. “He said that if there were a way he could tell his successor without telling his daughter, he would have,” she said around the lump in her throat.

Her mother shook her head, closing her eyes. After a moment, she opened them again. 

“We deserved to know. Me, you, your brother and sister.” She glanced at the headstone briefly, before meeting Beatrice’s eyes again. “He loved you so much, sweetheart. He adored the three of you.”

She let out a little laugh. “Your grandfather got so angry at him once. We were at a state dinner in Belgium. And your dad was supposed to be speaking to the prime minister about cheese exports or something,” she waved her hand in the air, “but all he could talk about was how you were so advanced that your school was having you skip the fifth grade. And that Sam had scored three goals in her soccer game, and Jeff was starting goalie for his hockey team.” She took a deep breath, smiling fondly. “He liked being your dad a lot more than he liked being king.”

Beatrice hadn’t known that. Her father had always seemed larger than life – the most important man in any room he’d walked into. She had never seen him anything besides calm and collected. _Except the night he died_ , she thought. Had her dad been as at war with himself as she was? Had he ever felt like she did – like she was standing on top of a cliff, knowing that she needed to back away from the edge or jump, and not knowing which was scarier?

Her mother was silent for a moment, still smiling slightly. A sadness remained in her eyes. 

“You’ve seen the footage from when we were bringing you home from the hospital.” Beatrice nodded. “Your dad was jumping out of his skin, he was so happy.” Adelaide smiled. “He was over the moon that we’d had a little girl.”

“I had thought I wanted a boy, because that’s what I was _supposed_ to want. But your dad insisted, from the moment I told him I was pregnant, that we were having a daughter. He was so certain that he agreed to let me name you whatever I wanted if you ended up being a boy. So be happy you weren’t, because you were going to be Horace, just to spite him.” Beatrice laughed. Her mother would have followed through on that, too. 

Adelaide looked back at the headstone. “We got the first threat against you the next morning.” Beatrice looked over sharply. She’d had no idea that those had started when she was so young. Her father hadn’t liked to speak about direct security issues with her. 

Her mom’s focus remained ahead. “I know you get briefed on security threats now, so you can probably imagine what that entailed. But for someone to threaten a newborn? A seven pound, nine ounce, _beautiful_ baby? Your father was ready to burn the city to the ground.”

“We scared you, I think.” Adelaide turned back to Beatrice. “We were so terrified that something would happen to you. That someone would try to hurt you. We thought that teaching you to be…” she sighed. “Perfect, I suppose. That if we made you unimpeachable, without reproach, that no one could possibly…” She shook her head.

“Lot of good that did,” Adelaide scoffed. “You have always been the most targeted member of the family. The _whole_ family. Your uncle’s family and your aunt included. And it didn’t matter that you have never been anything less than exceptional. To some people, you being a woman is always going to be disqualifying.”

“What I mean by all this,” she held Beatrice’s eye, “is that I know we made some mistakes.”

Beatrice sat there stunned, her eyes wide. She’d never seen her mother like this. Her mother was Adelaide, Queen Consort to the King of the United States of America, and a duchess twice over to boot. Her admitting that she had been as fallible as any other parent made Beatrice feel…

She didn’t quite know what she felt. But she felt a little better in the knowledge that maybe she wasn’t alone in not being _okay_. 

Adelaide went back to stroking Beatrice’s hair. Beatrice leaned her head onto her mother’s shoulder, tucking her knees up, making herself small in her embrace.

“I am so incredibly sorry about what I said to you,” Adelaide said into the quiet. “About your father being disappointed?” Beatrice felt her mom turn her head, a kiss pressed to her hairline. “That night of the avalanche, they told me that you’d pressed your panic button and my heart stopped. It would kill me to lose you, Honeybee. And the thought of you…” She didn’t seem to be able to say the word. “Without me apologizing to you? That I couldn’t stand.” She sighed. “I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to say it.”

“It’s okay,” Beatrice said into the wool of her mother’s coat. She couldn’t remember the last time her mom had called her Honeybee. It had to have been over a decade. Her mother had stopped using the name probably around the time that Sam had stopped using Bee, and Beatrice had stopped calling Jeff ‘Peanut.’ Beatrice hadn’t really realized just how much their family dynamic had changed when their dad had become king. They’d all used to be so close.

“No, it isn’t,” her mother avowed. “That was an unforgivable thing to say to you, and it wasn’t true.” She grabbed Beatrice’s face again, her eyes boring into hers. “Your father was so proud of you. _I_ am so proud of you. There isn’t a thing in the world that you could do that would ever make me not proud to be your mom. Okay?” Beatrice nodded as best she could, with her mother gripping her face. “You and your brother and sister are the best things I’ve ever done. You are the _most important_ things to me. And I am so incredibly sorry if I’ve ever made you doubt that.”

Beatrice threw her arms around her mother’s waist, burying her face in her neck. The familiar smell of roses filled her lungs. “I love you, Mom,” she whispered.

She heard Adelaide sniffle above her. “I love you too, Honeybee. More than you can ever know.” Adelaide’s arms tightened around her. “I know I wasn’t the parent you typically confided in, but you come talk to me next time, alright? I don’t want to hear about you smashing any more breakables around the Palace.”

Beatrice huffed a small laugh. “I’ll do my best.”

She and her mother sat there, huddled together at the king’s grave, for an indeterminable amount of time. Beatrice could hear the sound of frogs and crickets, and the hoot of an owl somewhere off in the trees. The Washington city lights glistened on the river. It wasn’t a bad spot, as far as final resting places went. 

“We should head back home,” Adelaide said finally. “Mike keeps shooting me glares. I think you’re too exposed out here.” 

Beatrice chuckled. She got up first, offering a hand down to her mother. “That’s just what Mike’s face looks like.”

Adelaide rode back to the Palace with Beatrice in the Beast. As they pulled up to the back entrance, her mother examined the doors. “I’m both thrilled that you have this level of protection, and very worried that you need it,” she said as she inspected the grenade-proof glass. “It’s not very roomy in here, either.”

Beatrice laughed. Her Guards had made the same complaint. With the thickness of the exterior of the vehicle, the interior was rather tight. 

“Come on,” Adelaide said, hopping out first. She looped her arm through Beatrice’s. “Your brother and sister have some scheme concocted.”

Beatrice trotted along with her. “I don’t do so well with the surprises, remember?”

Adelaide smiled. “I think you’ll like this one.”

Her mom led her down to the kitchens. They had stayed in the cemetery longer than she’d thought – the guests had long since gone, and few staff remained in the halls. When they reached the doors, Beatrice could hear the familiar sound of her siblings bickering.

“That looks terrible.”

“Does not! It’s a masterpiece!”

“You spelled her name wrong!”

Adelaide swung the door open. Beatrice felt a smile stretch across her face at the sight. 

The twins had a circular, two-tier cake in front of them. It was slightly lopsided, but it was covered in shiny chocolate frosting that at least _looked_ delicious. Jeff had a tube of decorators icing in his hand. Beatrice stepped closer to the counter, inspecting their handiwork. 

“It was still too warm when we put the frosting on,” Sam winced. “But I think it tastes good!”

Beatrice burst out laughing. It did appear that Jeff had spelled her name wrong – it was missing the R – but even so, she thought the lumpy chocolate cake was one of the best things she’d ever seen. 

“We have candles!” Jeff exclaimed, pulling a box off the counter behind him. “We had to go to the market across the street, and they only had orange, which we know you hate, but — why are you crying?” he exclaimed. “No crying on your birthday!” 

Beatrice giggled through the tears that had started to fall. She didn’t have the heart to tell her brother that these weren’t even close to the first tears she’d shed today. These tears were happy ones at least. 

She hurried around the kitchen island, slinging an arm around Sam and Jeff’s necks. 

“My goodness,” Jeff said, holding the frosting tube away from her hair. “A hug from Her Maj.”

“I love you guys,” Beatrice said, pressing a kiss to each of their heads. She had to stand on tiptoes to reach Jeff’s, a reminder of how much the twins had grown.

“We love you too,” they chorused. 

Beatrice heard their mother laugh. Looking up, she saw Adelaide lower her phone, as though she’d just snapped a picture. 

“Okay,” Beatrice said as Jeff started sticking the bright orange candles into the cake. “Mom should light them. I don’t trust either of you.”

Adelaide smiled, coming around to stand next to her children. She methodically lit each of the twenty-four candles, turning to Beatrice with a smile. 

“Make a wish, sweetheart.”

“Quick, before the fire alarm goes off because you’re so old,” Jeff quipped. 

Beatrice stuck her tongue out at him, gathering her hair in her hand to hold it away from her face. 

_Make a wish, Beatrice._

She blew out the candles. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that conversation with her mom has been a loooong time coming (and they're not done yet!). bee is starting to reckon with the fact that what her parents did was shitty, even if they had good intentions. embrace the emotions, beatrice!
> 
> I kind of got the impression that beatrice's parents didn't actually pay a whole lot of attention to her? at least on a personal level. all during majesty I just kept wondering where the hell her mother was (focusing on planning a wedding that her daughter didn't want, but we'll get to that too).
> 
> thanks for reading!!!


	22. Chapter 22

_I don’t believe in much but I believe in you_

_look at how wildly you grew_

_pulling out desire by its roots_

_filling in the cracks of your heart with gold_

_look at how history shapeshifts_

_but you learned how to bloom in the spaces_

_you grew up so soft when you could have grown cold_

_hanahaki (bloom) – molly ofgeography_

“Don’t run through the –” Beatrice groaned. “Nice, Frank.”

The yellow lab came bounding up to her, now covered in mud. He dropped a soaking wet tennis ball at her feet, wagging frantically. 

“You’re lucky you’re so cute,” she said, bending to pick up the ball. “You ready?” She tossed the ball in a high arc, the dog taking off after it. 

The Palace grounds were empty – it was after eight, and the gates closed at sundown. Beatrice was taking a Lena-mandated break from work for a moment. Franklin had been whining at her ever since Ben had dropped Chloe off at their grandmother’s house a couple hours ago, so outside they’d gone.

“He’s still not understanding that he’s supposed to bring the ball _back_ , I see.”

Beatrice jumped slightly, turning toward Teddy. She hadn’t heard him walk up.

“Hey,” she said. “He brings it back about half the time. We’re working on it.” 

As it was, Franklin had gotten distracted by a particularly smelly piece of garbage. Beatrice snorted. 

“So I suppose you saw what I did to the Brides Room last night,” Beatrice said after a couple minutes of silence. Teddy hadn’t been at the Palace when she and her mother had gotten back, and she hadn’t heard from him today. She didn’t particularly want to talk about what had happened last night, but she had a feeling that was the reason Teddy had come to find her. 

“I did,” he replied, kicking at a chunk of leftover snow. He sighed deeply. “I didn’t…”

“Why didn’t you say something about your birthday? If I’d known it wasn’t a good day for you, I wouldn’t have –”

“The second anniversary of my father’s death was four days ago, Teddy. I didn’t think I needed to point that out to you.” Beatrice winced slightly. She hadn’t meant to sound so harsh, but now it was out there.

Teddy was silent for a moment. “That’s fair,” he said finally. “I hadn’t thought of it like that, to be honest. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t want you to be _sorry_ ,” Beatrice said, bending down to pick up the ball that Franklin had finally brought back. “You didn’t have bad intentions. I’m not mad at you.” 

She didn’t think she was, anyway.

“You don’t talk to me,” Teddy said as Franklin went taking off after the ball. Beatrice looked at him. She talked to him all the time, didn’t she? 

At her confused look, he continued. “You’ve never talked about your father with me, Beatrice. I mean, I know you were sad. Of course you were sad. But you didn’t talk to me about it.” His breath blew out in puffs. “You don’t talk to me about _anything_. Not anymore. Maybe you never really did.”

Beatrice didn’t know what to say to that. He was probably at least partially right, if she thought about it. But the other thing couldn’t be true, could it? She tried to think back on their most recent conversations, scouring for something more personal that she’s spoken about. She came up empty.

She threw the ball for Franklin several more times, Teddy silently watching beside her. 

“There’s nothing to talk about, anyway. I’m fine,” she said finally. Now she knew she was lying, but the notion of talking to Teddy about her grief for dad felt impossible. Why couldn’t she just say it?

He looked at her, his dark blue eyes searching. “I don’t expect for you to tell me everything that’s going on in your head, Bee. But I didn’t sign up to be some trophy husband that you put back on a shelf when you don’t need me to work a rope line.”

Irritation fired through her. 

“What _did_ you sign up for, then?”

Beatrice gasped, her gloved hand clamping over her mouth as she realized what she’d said. 

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean that.” 

His face went blank quickly, but Beatrice caught the flash of hurt. He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.” He pet Franklin on the head. “I’m gonna head inside. I’ve got a train later.”

“Teddy.” Beatrice caught his arm. “I _really_ didn’t mean that.”

He grasped her hand for a moment. “There must have been some truth in it, Bee. Or you wouldn’t have been so quick to say it,” he said quietly. He squeezed her hand once, then released it. He crossed his arms over his chest, huddling against the windchill blowing in from the river. 

Beatrice opened her mouth, then closed it. She wasn’t sure what to say. Had she meant it?

“Seriously,” he said, his blond hair ruffling in the breeze. “Don’t worry about it.”

Franklin batted Beatrice’s hand with his head. She checked her watch. 

“Do you have plans right now?” She bobbed up and down on her heels. “I haven’t eaten yet, if you want to…” She was avoiding the topic, she knew, but so was he.

He grinned, although it didn’t reach his eyes. “Sure. I’d like that.”

Several hours later, Beatrice was lounging on the window seat in her closet, her legs propped straight up against the wall. Teddy had taken the late train back to Boston after dinner. They’d had a pleasant enough time, although it was slightly awkward after what had happened outside. She’d tried to talk to him about what was going on with the Post Office, but Teddy had never been that interested in congressional politics. He listened attentively, but he tended to just agree with whatever she said. She knew Teddy wasn’t really into politics, which was fine, but every now and again she’d appreciate having a two-sided conversation.

Beatrice stared at the ceiling. Did she mean what she’d said to him earlier? Teddy had a point – she was awfully quick with that response for someone who claimed to have not meant it. But what did that mean? Did she think Teddy had agreed to be with her for such shallow reasons? 

_Yes, you do_. That voice was getting very irritating. 

_You know that Teddy only said yes to your proposal because you were Princess Royal. He’s with you_ because _you’re the queen. He said as much. “You don’t turn down an invitation from the future queen.”_

Beatrice huffed. She knew that wasn’t fair to Teddy. 

_Isn’t it? Weren’t you just his meal ticket? Sure solved all of his problems in one fell swoop, getting engaged to you. Why else would anyone agree to put up with your bullshit for the rest of their life?_

Beatrice plucked the throw pillow out from under her head, jamming it over her face with a frustrated scream. She didn’t know where these thoughts were coming from. 

“Are you trying to smother yourself?” 

Beatrice snorted into the pillow. “If only,” she replied. She lifted the pillow away, turning her head to look at her sister. “What’s up?”

Sam had on a matching tie dye sweats set, her dark hair piled on top of her head. Thick socks were on her feet. 

She held up a small brown package, about the size of a book. “I rescued this from your birthday presents last night,” she said. “I thought you’d want this one.”

Beatrice held her hand out. She held the package over her head, examining it. She smiled at the intricate bumblebee drawn on the parchment paper in black ink, its wings so delicate they seemed to almost lift off the packaging. There was something familiar about it. The return address put the puzzle together. 

Beatrice brought her legs down, swinging herself into a sitting position. Her fingers traced the bee, the only indication of who the package was for other than her personal mail code written below the Palace’s address. 

“It’s from him, right? I know he lives in Houston,” Sam asked. She was hovering in the center of the closet, chewing on her lip. 

Beatrice nodded. There was only ever one _him_ for her.

“Have you...have you talked at all?” Sam inched closer. “Since the...you know.” 

Beatrice nodded again. “We ran into each other in Houston when I went to interview Alvarez. Well, I ran into him.” She smiled slightly at the memory. She swore she could still feel his fingers on her waist. She shook her head, her own bun slipping slightly. “We’ve talked on the phone a few times since. Just to catch up.”

“Do you miss him?” Sam inched closer still. 

Beatrice glanced up at her. Sam held her hands up. “I don’t mean anything by…” She finally sat down next to Beatrice on the window seat. “You’ve never really told me what happened there.” Sam nodded at the package in her hands. 

“You know the gist,” Beatrice sighed. “It wasn’t ever going to work.” 

Sam made a disgruntled noise, but didn’t say anything. 

“Do you miss him?” she asked again. 

Beatrice stroked over the wrapping. “Yeah, I do.” She turned her head to look at her sister. “He was my best friend.” She didn’t think she’d admitted that out loud before, but it was true. Long before she’d ever realized that she had romantic feelings for him, Connor had still been the truest friend she’d ever had. The _only_ friend she’d ever had.

“Were you talking to him the other night? By the pool?”

Beatrice’s eyes narrowed. “How did you...?”

Sam shrugged, her sweatshirt slipping off her shoulder. “Nina overheard you when she was walking up.” Sam looked over. “She has no idea _who_ you were talking to, don’t worry.” Beatrice’s face must have looked a little panicked. “She just said you sounded like you were talking to a friend.”

Beatrice relaxed slightly. “He called to check on me. After the ceremony at Arlington.” 

Sam was silent for a moment. She straightened, as though remembering something. “He was one of Dad’s pallbearers, wasn’t he?” 

Beatrice nodded, although she wasn’t sure where her sister was going. 

Sam hummed, seemingly deep in thought. 

“Sammie? You gonna clue me in here?”

Sam kicked her feet back and forth against the edge of the seat. “Nope. Just figured something out, is all.” 

“You’re not gonna tell me what that something is?”

Sam smiled mischievously. “You’re not ready to hear it just yet. But you will be.”

Beatrice elbowed her sister, who just laughed and hit her with a throw pillow. 

Beatrice thought back to earlier in the evening. “Is it wrong?” she asked. “For me to talk to him while I’m still with Teddy?”

Sam shook her head. “How often do you talk, anyway?”

Beatrice shrugged. “Not often. Just a few times, really. Before this week we’d last talked at New Year’s.” 

“After the avalanche?” Beatrice nodded. “Did you talk to him about what happened at the rink?” 

Beatrice groaned. “Your boyfriend is a snitch.”

Sam rolled her eyes. “He is not. He didn’t tell me everything. He just said you seemed like you missed Dad.” 

Beatrice leaned back against the window, the cold glass seeping through her hair. “Yeah, I talked to Connor about Dad.” She thought back to their conversations. “We mainly talk whenever I’ve had a panic attack,” Beatrice scoffed at her own ridiculousness. “He saw right through me at the Queen’s Ball. He’s the one who convinced me it might help to talk to a therapist.”

“You told him about your panic attacks?” Sam’s eyes had gone wide. 

“Yeah, why?”

“Bee, you barely talk to _me_ about that. If I hadn’t found you that night, you’d probably never have told me the truth.”

“Yes I would have,” Beatrice grumbled. “Well, maybe not the whole truth.”

Sam arched an eyebrow. 

“It’s not a bad thing to have someone you feel comfortable talking to, Bee.” 

That sparked something. “Mom said something last night. To Dad.” Sam scooted closer on the seat, coming right up against Beatrice. “She said ‘we were supposed to be a team, George.’ She’s mad at him for not telling all of us about the cancer.”

Sam nodded, watching Beatrice. “I’m still a little peeved about that myself.” 

“It just…” Should she even say this? “It made me think about when Dad told me. About who _I_ went to to talk about it.”

Sam continued to watch her, her eyes going sad. 

“I didn’t go to Teddy,” Beatrice continued. “I didn’t even consider it. I proposed to him because of it, but it didn’t even cross my mind to confide in him about it.” 

She shook her head, huffing out a laugh. “Teddy’s mad at me, I think. He says he isn’t, but he’s mentioned a couple times now that I don’t talk to him.”

Sam nodded. “He kind of said that to me too. In Telluride,” she clarified. “Not to defend him, because you know I hate doing that, but I think he has a point. I told him that if you’re acting like an asshole, then he needs to have a conversation with you about it instead of moping.”

At that, Beatrice did laugh. “We both know I can be an asshole, that’s for sure,” she said, still giggling. 

Sam nudged her with her shoulder. “You and Teddy are a lot alike in some ways,” she said. “You both think you’ve got the weight of the world on your shoulders. Of course, you kind of do,” she added, chuckling. “Him, not so much.”

“There’s a lot of pressure on him, Sam,” Beatrice defended. “His parents are…”

“Well, you’ve seen how they are.”

Sam nodded slightly. “Still,” she said, drawing her legs up under her, “you could talk to each other more about it.” She tilted back to lean against the glass too. 

“Of course,” she said after a few beats, “that’s if you _want_ to talk to each other about it.”

Beatrice huffed. “I don’t know what my problem is,” she mumbled. “Teddy’s a good guy. He’s never been anything but kind to me. He’s very sweet. Everyone loves him.”

Beatrice felt Sam’s eyes on the side of her face. 

“Do _you_ love him?”

Beatrice stared straight ahead. 

“It’s okay if you don’t, Bee. Even if you used to, or you thought you did, or whatever. These are normal emotions to have. People fall in and out of love all the time.”

“Well, us mere mortals do, anyway,” Sam added, earning a small chuckle from Beatrice.

“I’m not sure I get that luxury.”

Sam huffed. “Says who?”

Beatrice just shook her head. She couldn’t expect her sister to understand the situation – she wasn’t Queen. Their grandfather hadn’t told _her_ that the Crown must always win, even, or perhaps especially, at the expense of her own happiness. And Teddy didn’t make Beatrice _un_ happy. 

_He doesn’t make you all that happy, either._

She urged the voice in her head to shut up. Being with Teddy was for the best. He would make the perfect king consort, and any feelings she may or may not be having for him were her own issue. She did care about him immensely. And hadn’t her father said that love comes from growing with someone? She was being ridiculous. This was just a phase or something, surely.

Beatrice sighed again. “You want ice cream? I hid some Phish Food behind all of the ground beef in the freezer so Jeff wouldn’t find it.”

Sam smiled. “Who knew you were so sneaky?”

“I can be very sneaky! I don't know why everyone is always so surprised!” Her sister continued to laugh as she pulled her off the window seat. 

“Aren’t you going to open that?” Sam asked, nodding at the package that Beatrice had left on the window seat. 

“Later,” Beatrice replied, towing her sister out of her suite. She’d open it in a while – she didn’t particularly want an audience.

After gorging herself on Ben & Jerry’s with her sister, Beatrice slunk back into her suite. It was a little after midnight. Julia had told her that her constantly feeling exhausted, yet unable to sleep, was a normal symptom of anxiety and post-traumatic stress. Beatrice still wasn’t _entirely_ convinced that Julia was right about the PTSD, but even Beatrice had to admit that the symptoms certainly fit. 

After washing her face and performing her overly elaborate skincare routine – Sam’s words – Beatrice wandered back into her closet. She picked the package up, sitting on the floor, her back against the window seat. Slipping her finger underneath the tape, she carefully lifted the paper away. She didn’t want to damage the bee drawn on the front. 

Beneath the wrapping was a thick leather-bound journal, in a soft cognac color. It would match her tote bag almost perfectly, Beatrice thought. 

Flipping through the pages, she saw that they were lightly lined, the way she liked. She was very finicky about her notebooks, a fact that Connor was intimately aware of after he’d had to spend several hours traipsing around the various stationery shops in the greater Boston area with her. He’d actually been a pretty good sport about it, she remembered. When she’d apologized for taking so long he’d just shrugged.

“I go where you go, Princess,” he’d said. “Take as long as you want.”

Cracking the spine, she was pleased to see that the pages lay flat. The journal itself was thick and sturdy, probably seven by nine inches. Turning to the cover page, she saw a slip of paper tucked behind the front cover. 

_Bee -_

_I know how you feel about your birthday, so just think of this as a completely random gift that happened to get to you on or around February 22nd._

Beatrice rolled her eyes, continuing to read.

_I know you’re not really the journaling type, but I saw this and thought it would match that giant bag you carry everything you own in._

She snorted. She did carry a lot of stuff around with her. She liked to be prepared!

_My mom has been teaching art classes down at the community center, and when I was helping her out over Christmas, one of the women in her seniors class (although I’m sure Mari would like me to tell you that she’s eighty-four years_ young _) was telling me about this Japanese pottery technique called kintsugi._

Beatrice made a slightly strangled noise in the back of her throat. The image of Connor assisting his mother’s senior citizen art class did a funny thing to her chest, which she promptly ignored. 

_They take broken pottery and fill the cracks in with lacquer mixed with gold. The breaks become a part of the piece, rather than trying to hide them, and it’s finer for it. It made me think of you._

_You are so strong. It’s okay to fall apart though, Bee. It’s terrifying. Trust me, I know. But sometimes that’s the only way to put yourself back together again._

_Your friend always,_

_Connor_

_P.S. Happy birthday, Bee. The world is better for having you in it._

Beatrice sat staring at the letter for a while. She crawled over to the aforementioned tote bag, which was leaning against the wall next to the closet door. Pulling her phone out, she typed ‘kintsugi’ into the search engine. She recognized the technique, although she hadn’t known what it was called when she’d seen it before. She saw what Connor meant – simple pieces were transformed into something interesting, even beautiful, the gold cracks gleaming. 

Is that what she should do? Allow herself to break completely, then piece herself back together again? Connor was right when he said that was terrifying. She wouldn’t even know where to start. _Do queens get to fall apart?_

She tucked the note into her jewelry box, then picked the journal and wrapping up off the floor. Going to her desk, she carefully cut the bumblebee out of the brown paper, taping it inside the front cover. She slid the journal into her bag. Connor was right that she probably wouldn’t write her inner thoughts inside, but she always needed something to take notes in throughout the day. It would be perfect.

Glancing at the clock, she saw that it was well past time for her to try to get some sleep. She popped a melatonin gummy into her mouth, flopping into bed. Pulling the podcast app up on her phone, she finally drifted off to the sounds of a BBC reporter talking about the latest on the conflict in Kashmir, trying not to dream about a certain pair of stormy blue eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the people who know bee best can tell when she needs a little nudge in the right direction. she'll get there. this of course would be easier if the author hadn't shipped bee's best friend off to another time zone, but what are you gonna do lol.
> 
> Queen Bee is about to make her grand appearance, and I for one am pumped.
> 
> thanks for reading!!!


	23. Chapter 23

_girl, don’t be weak and don’t be strong_

_say what you want just as long_

_as you nod your head with your lipstick on_

_and pose like a trophy on a shelf_

_dream for everyone but not yourself_

_I’ve heard of god the son and god the father_

_I’m still looking for a god for the daughters_

_the daughters – little big town_

Sam snorted as she read the text on her phone. Marshall had been sending her terrible jokes all day. They hadn’t seen each other in several weeks now, and it would be another two before he flew out to Washington for the State Dinner. He’d been assistant coaching for the University of Orange water polo team while on break from the U.S.A. national team, and had been busy every weekend. Sam missed him a lot, but she was thrilled that he’d found a way to further his career without having to move to Europe, where the professional leagues were more popular.

Shouldering her suite door open, she flung one heel off of her foot. She stopped abruptly.

“Mom!” 

Adelaide was standing in the center of her daughter’s sitting room, examining a stuffed koala in her hands. Upon hearing Sam, she looked up. Her hair was pulled back from her face, and she had on what looked like…

“Are those _sweatpants_?” Sam looked around the room wildly. “Am I being Punk’d? Are you really my mother? Is Ashton Kutcher hiding in my closet?”

Adelaide huffed. “Really, Samantha, don’t be so dramatic,” she chided. “These are cashmere.”

Of course they were. Sam finished removing her other shoe, then shrugged out of her coat. She’d been at a board meeting for the Washington Family Trust all afternoon and was itching to get out of her stuffy professional clothes.

“Did you need something?” she asked as she headed toward her closet. Several necklaces jangled loudly from the doorknob as she pulled the door open. 

She heard her mother sigh behind her. “Do you remember where this came from?” Adelaide asked, holding the koala up.

Sam shrugged as she wriggled out of her stiff suit skirt. “Australia?”

Adelaide shot a look at her. “Well, yes, technically,” she said. “Your sister picked it out for you.”

“She did?” Sam’s voice was muffled as she pulled a sweatshirt over her head.

“We were on tour down there. I was pregnant with you and Jeff,” she looked at Sam. “Your sister had just turned three.” She sat down on Sam’s sofa, the koala still in her hands. “She was so excited. You’re all she’d asked for for Christmas that year.”

Sam sat on the sofa opposite her mom, her brows drawn together. “What do you mean?”

Adelaide smiled. “She started crying after opening presents, and when your dad asked her why she said it was because Santa hadn’t brought her a baby sister like she’d asked for.” She sniffled slightly, taking a breath. “She’d gotten presents from the Queen of England, and she didn’t even look twice at them. I was thrilled that a few months later I got to tell her that Santa had just been a little delayed, because she was getting _two_ baby siblings, not just one.” 

Sam had had no idea that Beatrice had wished for a sister when she was little. The years when Sam had been so awful to her rose up like bile in her throat.

“Anyway,” Adelaide continued, “we were on tour in Australia and while your father was at a meeting with the Prime Minister of Nauru, I took your sister to the zoo. No royal rota, just me and her, and a couple Guards in plainclothes. We told the press that I was having terrible morning sickness and would be staying at the hotel.”

“Mom, you rebel,” Sam smiled. 

Adelaide chuckled. “We really tried in the beginning there to give you kids _some_ semblance of normalcy. I’d gladly wear a wig in the Australian heat to watch your sister’s face when she saw an elephant for the first time.” She paused, smiling at the memory. “She saw these,” she held up the koala, of which Jeff had a matching one, “and _insisted_ that you needed them. I tried to tell her that it would be a while before you could play with stuffed animals, but she wouldn’t be deterred.” 

This was a very nice story, but Sam wasn’t quite sure what had made her mother tell it. This must have shown on her face somehow.

“I came in here to talk to you,” Adelaide said. “I owe you an apology. Perhaps more than one.”

Sam shook her head slightly. “What do you –”

“I saw what was happening, after your grandfather died. Between you and your sister. At first I thought you were simply growing apart naturally, since Beatrice was becoming a teenager.” Adelaide shook her head, pieces of hair falling around her face. “It took me longer than it should have, but I finally realized that it wasn’t your sister that was the issue.”

Sam snorted. “Yeah, I was.”

“No,” Adelaide said quickly, coming around to sit next to Sam on the other couch. “You were both children, and you were reacting to the way your dad and I were acting.” She grabbed Sam’s hands in hers. “We put all of this pressure on Beatrice, and in the process it must have seemed like we were ignoring you.” She took a deep breath. “That was never our intention, sweetheart. You and your brother had so much more freedom than your sister did. It’s taken me far too long to realize how that must have looked to you.”

That was _exactly_ how Sam had felt, but she hadn’t realized that her mom had been paying attention.

Adelaide sighed again. “This isn’t an excuse,” she looked at Sam, who nodded, “but I was raised to do _this_.” She gestured in the air, seeming to mean the Palace in general. “Your granddad was...Shall we say difficult? He hammered it into me that the only thing I was ever going to be good for was being someone’s wife. He wouldn’t even pay for me to go to college. Said it would be a waste.”

Sam squeezed her mom’s hands, her vision going red with anger. “He _what_?” Sam’s grandad, the Duke of Canaveral, had died when she was little. She didn’t remember the man, and Adelaide rarely spoke of him. 

“Easy, sweetheart,” Adelaide said. “That wasn’t that outrageous back then.”

“Yes it is!” Sam insisted. “You’re smart! What the hell? Who _says_ that?”

Adelaide held onto her hands when Sam tried to leap off the couch. “He’s dead, Sam,” she smiled slightly, pulling Sam back down. “You don’t need to go fight him.”

Sam settled back onto the sofa, still vibrating with rage. 

“He was just angry that I’d been a girl. He wanted an heir.”

“ _You’re_ an heir. He married a duchess!” Sam exclaimed. “Did he think Grandmama was just a _wife_?”

Adelaide pulled a face. “Like I said, things were different back then.”

Sam got the sense that there was something her mother wasn’t saying. “Your father didn’t…” She wasn’t sure she could say it. “Was he abusive?” 

Adelaide nodded minutely. “Mostly just verbally. Physically, a few times. He started to drink more and more as I got older.” She chuckled ruefully. “When your Grandmama found out, she told him she’d shoot him if he ever did it again. She’d’ve done it too,” her voice dipped slightly into her natural Southern accent. _She-da-dun._ “Mama is quite the shot.” 

Adelaide stared off into space for a moment, stroking Sam’s hair. 

“I was raised to be a wife, and that’s what I became,” she said. “That was my entire existence. Couple that with your father being raised to believe that the Crown was the most important thing in the world, and you kids ended up with the short end of the stick.”

“You were good parents,” Sam argued. She had clashed with them over the years, but didn’t all children? 

Adelaide smiled softly. “Thank you, sweetheart. That’s kind of you to say.”

“I was so focused on being the perfect Queen Consort, that I lost sight of the fact that you three still needed a mom,” she continued. “Then your father died, and I didn’t just lose my husband. I lost the only job I’d ever had.”

“I wasn’t there for you the way you needed me to be. I’ve been so proud of you these past couple years.” Her mom put her hand to her cheek, stroking with her thumb. “You were thrown into the deep end, and I’ve been so impressed with how you’ve handled yourself.” 

Sam shrugged. “Bee needed me.” She’d meant it when she told her sister that she’d do anything for her. If Beatrice needed her to put on a stuffy suit sometimes and handle the charities, that was easy enough. Bee had to run the country, after all.

Adelaide nodded. “And I’m so very glad she’s had you. I think you might have been the only thing holding her together for a while now. Lord knows I didn’t make myself available.”

“Was she...How was she? On her birthday?” Beatrice had mentioned a couple of things, but hadn’t talked about her own emotional state.

Adelaide sighed, putting her arm around Sam. “Not good,” she replied. “Your sister has always been so lonely. I worry about how she’s going to get through this.”

“Bee’s tough,” Sam said. “She just needs to figure out that we love _her_.”

Adelaide’s eyes narrowed in confusion. 

“She thinks the title is what people care about,” Sam explained. “Even with you and dad, she always felt like her being the heir was more important than her being your daughter.”

Adelaide was silent for a moment. Sam could see tears welling in her eyes. A small part of her wished she could take the words back, but they were the truth. She’d lost track of the number of times she’d watched her sister shut down, hiding behind her title and position. She knew part of it was a defense mechanism - Bee had never learned how to trust other people with herself. 

Finally, Adelaide sighed, hugging Sam tighter. “Thank you for telling me that. I have to say I have never been very good at reading your sister.”

“Don’t worry, she isn’t very good at reading herself, either,” Sam chuckled.

Adelaide laughed with her, Sam’s head shaking against her shoulder. After a while, she spoke up. “I told Chef Greg to only worry about the staff meals tonight,” Adelaide said. “I thought maybe we could order pizza? Y’all used to like that.”

Sam smiled, memories of her dad sweeping into her bedroom and announcing that it was Pizza Night flooding through her mind. “Yeah, that sounds great.”

Adelaide got up off the couch, heading toward her suite for her phone. 

“Mom,” Sam called as she reached the door. “I know you’re not technically Queen Consort anymore, but Bee really appreciates the work you do. With the balls and the fundraisers and stuff. Even if she forgets to say it.”

Adelaide just smiled. “Do you two still like jalapeños on your pizza?”

Sam wished she knew how to fix her family. Her sister was hanging on by a thread, her brother was too busy partying to acknowledge _his_ emotions, and her mom seemed just as lost as both of them. Her dad would’ve known what to do, but all Sam could think of was to try to keep them all together, at least physically. She nodded. “I’ll tell Jeff and Bee to meet us in the family dining room.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Daphne shut the door of the cab, being careful not to slam it closed the way she wanted. Her phone vibrated again in her hand. 

_I’m just worried about Jeff, Daph_ , the text from Ethan read. _He’s not himself._

Daphne rolled her eyes as she walked toward the side Palace entrance. She _knew_ that Jeff hadn’t been himself lately – for years now, really, if she were being honest. She was his girlfriend, for Christ’s sake. She didn’t need Ethan bugging her about it.

He’d been trying to talk to her lately. She knew he was still upset with her about the whole Nina scheme, so Daphne was sure that he wasn’t trying to reconnect with _her_. It was all about Jeff. To be fair, Daphne was also worried about the prince. Even though he was largely out of commission due to his leg still needing months of physical therapy, Daphne knew he’d been drinking more and more. He was actually pretty good at hiding the evidence. She’d recently discovered a stash of empty glass bottles hidden in the back of his closet - he was clearly only putting a few out at a time, in an effort to stop any gossip from Palace staff.

_I can handle Jeff_ , she typed back. _You’re his best friend. If you’re worried about him, then talk to him._

She slipped her phone back into her bag as she approached the security gate. 

“Morning,” she smiled at the security officer. It wasn’t Revere Guard on the outer gates, but even Daphne had noticed an uptick in the number of safety features surrounding the queen. 

“Morning, Ms. Deighton,” the guard replied. “Her Majesty is expecting you,” he slipped a visitors badge underneath the glass partition, “go right on in.”

Daphne thanked him, clipping the red badge to her coat. She still prickled a bit at the insistence of the Palace staff that she wear one - surely the girlfriend of the prince shouldn’t be required a _visitors_ badge – but a stern talking-to from Commander Desrosiers, Queen Beatrice’s head of the Revere Guard, when he’d spotted Daphne in the hallways without one had stopped her complaining. She was on a very selective pre-approved guest list, which meant she didn’t require additional permission from security or the queen every time she wanted to enter the building, so that was something at least.

“Ms. Deighton, please come with me.” A Palace page met her in the public lobby. The Palace was deceptively shaped. The large imposing columns that everyone saw from the front of the building was the main residence - the royal family’s suites, private dining room, sitting rooms, and guest rooms were all housed there. The public lobby was in the West Wing. A series of maze-like staircases and mezzanine levels led to the offices of the Queen’s Staff, including the queen’s study. Daphne hadn’t been through that part of the Palace since the queen had renovated, but judging by the people hurrying back and forth around her, it was clear that the reports of the queen increasing the staff numbers several-fold had been true.

The Palace page – Jayne, Daphne was pretty sure – led her through the lobby and down a hallway to the right. They emerged in the large central foyer, which gleamed in white marble and shiny wrought iron banisters. Two curving staircases swept up toward the second floor, and the residence. Jayne continued on, leading Daphne further into the East Wing. This was the _royal_ half of the Palace, where the ballroom and State Dining Room, among other grand spaces, were housed. Daphne spotted the china room, where the china collections of past Queen Consorts glinted in their display cases. 

Jayne walked up a side staircase, arriving outside a pair of double doors. 

“Her Majesty will meet you shortly,” she told Daphne. “You’re welcome to start perusing if you’d like.”

Daphne thanked her, wondering what exactly Jayne meant by that. She got her answer as the doors swung open, revealing several levels of seemingly never-ending racks of clothing. Racks were labeled with letters, which Daphne figured indicated the person they were meant for – A, B, or S.

A rack had been brought into the center of the room, standing beside a tri-fold of mirrors and a small raised platform. Daphne walked toward the rack, running her fingers lightly over the row of hanging dresses. 

She turned at the sound of the door opening, stopping short.

“Who let you in here?” Beatrice asked, her eyes narrowing dangerously.

Daphne worked to not wilt under the queen’s icy gaze. “Queen Adelaide offered to let me borrow a dress for the state dinner,” she said, gesturing at the rack behind her. 

Beatrice didn’t seem to buy this, but appeared to not care enough to argue. She walked around Daphne, heading toward a ‘B’ rack along the wall. She pressed a button on the wall, causing the row of dresses to start rotating forward. 

“Is that why you’re here?” Daphne asked. “For the state dinner?”

Beatrice sighed, releasing the button. “No.” She started flipping through the row of shorter dresses. Did Beatrice pick her own outfits? She’d clearly been at work, judging by her dress, blazer, and heels. Daphne had always thought one of the perks of being royal would be having staff to do things like grabbing outfit changes.

“I’m being honored as the Woman of the Year by the Women’s Legal Society,” Beatrice said after a moment. “For nominating Justice Alvarez.”

“Shouldn’t Justice Alvarez be the one honored, then?” Daphne said under her breath. 

The queen’s hearing seemed to be impeccable, unfortunately. “I’m sorry?”

“Nothing, Your Majesty,” Daphne shook her head. It wouldn’t do her any good to pick a fight with the queen, especially after what had happened on New Year’s Eve. Daphne wasn’t sure exactly how much Beatrice had deduced about her relationship with Jeff, but she at least knew that Daphne’s motivations weren’t pure. 

Beatrice merely hummed in response. She pulled several hangers off the rack, bringing them over to hook them over the mirrors. Beatrice turned suddenly.

“What do you mean?”

Daphne tilted her head. Wasn’t it obvious what she’d meant? “Oh, I didn’t mean anything, Your Majesty,” Daphne kept her voice light. “Congratulations on the honor.”

“Cut the crap, Daphne,” Beatrice snapped.

_Oh, great,_ Daphne thought. Beatrice was notoriously even-keeled, stoic even, yet Daphne seemed to have a knack for setting off her temper.

“I just would think that a group of female lawyers would want to honor the judge herself, rather than the person who happened to nominate her,” Daphne replied, still trying to maintain a casual air. 

Beatrice noisily clattered through another row of dresses, purposely dragging the hangers against the metal rod. Daphne winced at the noise. 

“Who invited you to the state dinner?”

“Prince Jefferson.”

“Of course. _Prince Jefferson_ did,” Beatrice said without turning around. 

Daphne had been trained her entire life to defer to those who outranked her. As queen, Beatrice outranked everyone. But she’d already pissed Beatrice off, so what did she have to lose? _In for a penny, in for a pound_.

“I just get tired of it,” she said at Beatrice’s back. 

Beatrice turned, crossing her arms over her chest. “Oh?” she prompted.

“People acting like you’re some kind of feminist icon,” Daphne explained. “You’re in power because you were born in the right place at the right time. You didn’t _do_ anything other than happen to be born first.”

Beatrice’s eyes narrowed even further, which Daphne hadn’t thought possible. “I put Alvarez on the bench.”

Daphne rolled her eyes. “Good for you, Your Majesty. One halfway decent act in two years.” She turned back to her own rack of clothes. “Oh, I’m sorry, I forgot. You can also throw a baseball across home plate,” she groused. “That’s feminism sorted.”

Daphne didn’t buy into the Palace’s current brand of women’s empowerment. Queen Beatrice looking vaguely athletic didn’t help Daphne at all. She was still in the same position she’d always been - being almost engaged to a man that she cared for, but certainly wasn’t in love with, because that was the only way for her to have any kind of upward mobility. Beatrice might be treated unfairly compared to her male predecessors, but she was still the _queen_.

Beatrice’s heel clacked against the wood floor as she crossed a leg in front of the other. “Excuse me?”

“Anyone who didn’t already think that women are capable of throwing a baseball sixty feet, or ruling without a husband, or whatever it is your argument is, aren’t going to be convinced by your little stunts. None of that _matters_.”

Daphne wrenched the heavy gowns across the rod as she scanned through them. “Women are still paid seventy-nine cents to a man’s dollar. Women are earning a majority of the college degrees in this country, yet they drop out of the workforce at alarming rates because they are still expected to be the primary caregivers, and childcare costs are exorbitant, and there’s no federal paid paternity leave. But don’t worry, everyone! Queen Beatrice can wave from a balcony _by herself_.”

Daphne could see Beatrice’s face growing redder the more she continued, but the words couldn’t be stopped. 

“The state of healthcare for women in this country is appalling. The maternal mortality rate is the highest in the developed world, and it’s twice -”

“Twice as high for Black women,” Beatrice interrupted. “I am well aware of the maternal mortality rate in my country, Daphne.”

“So you just don’t care, then?” Daphne snapped. She knew that the way she was speaking to Beatrice was likely to get her thrown out of the Palace permanently. “You know, I’ve watched you for years, trying to emulate you. Perfect Beatrice. I was stupid enough to actually be excited about your reign. I thought there might actually be some change around here.”

“I _have_ changed things,” Beatrice argued, continuing to glare at Daphne. 

Daphne just snorted. “No, you’re still trapped in the exact same prison the rest of us are. The difference is, you have the keys.”

“That’s not true,” Beatrice insisted. “I’m bound by rules and customs. The queen doesn’t have unlimited power.”

“You have _power_ , though. Don’t you understand that?” Daphne urged. “You’re the most powerful person in the world, Your Majesty. Any cage you think you’re in is one of your own making.”

Daphne clamped her mouth closed. That was much more than she had meant to say. Ethan’s text must have annoyed her more than she’d thought - she’d never have spoken to the queen this way if she were in her right mind. 

“I don’t have to listen to some gold-digging -” Beatrice stopped abruptly. She kicked violently at the rack next to her, causing it to groan as it briefly moved in the opposite direction of its mechanism. The gowns swung wildly. 

“I’m sorry,” she said, turning toward Daphne. “That was incredibly rude.”

Frankly, Daphne found Beatrice’s outburst refreshing. Beatrice _should_ be angry. Daphne certainly was. There were days she felt like she was going to explode, the rage at her parents, at herself, at _everything_ seeming like it was going to rip her into pieces. She got the impression that the queen might be fighting the same internal battle. 

Daphne clutched at the strap on her crossbody bag, which she’d swung around her front. “It’s alright, Your Majesty.”

“No, it isn’t,” Beatrice said vehemently. “Don’t let anyone talk to you like that. Including me.”

Daphne felt slightly whiplashed by the abrupt shift in Beatrice’s mood. She’d been practically vibrating with anger, and now she seemed almost dejected. Daphne watched as she walked over to a chair sitting next to the mirrors, sinking into it. She put her head in her hands, covering her face. A loud huff whistled out between her fingers.

“Your Majesty?” Daphne asked.

“Beatrice,” Beatrice’s voice was muffled by her hands.

“I beg your pardon?”

Beatrice raised her head. “You’ve been dating my brother for like six years or something, haven’t you? I think we can dispense with the formalities. Call me Beatrice.”

This only furthered Daphne’s confusion. “But you –”

“I know I’ve been a bitch to you,” Beatrice interrupted, “and I still don’t trust you. But you can call me Beatrice. At least right now.” She waved a hand around the room. “This isn’t exactly a formal setting.”

Daphne watched the young queen. Was their fight over? Did one _fight_ with the sovereign? And since when did Beatrice curse in front of people? 

Beatrice leaned back in the chair, crossing her arms again. “You might have a point.” This statement seemed to cause Beatrice great pain to say.

“I didn’t mean to imply that you weren’t doing a good job as queen,” Daphne said, trying to get back into her good graces. Or at least her neutral graces. She had no idea what her parents would do if Daphne got herself thrown out of the Palace. Or worse.

“I’m not doing a good job as queen,” Beatrice said quietly. She looked up sharply at Daphne. “If I read about this in the Daily News, there will be _severe_ consequences.”

Daphne didn’t have a retort for that. She’d attempted to blackmail the queen, after all. Beatrice had every right not to trust her. “Understood.”

The doors flung open, a waft of roses filling the room. 

“Daphne, I’m so sorry I’m late - oh, hello, sweetheart,” Adelaide spotted Beatrice in the chair. “Are you here to help?” The dowager queen’s head cocked in confusion.

Beatrice shook her head, standing up. “I was just grabbing an outfit for an event this afternoon,” she explained, going back over to the rack she’d abandoned and lifting a pretty long-sleeved purple dress off of it. She waggled it in her mother’s direction. “Can I borrow your purple sandals?”

“Of course, darling,” Adelaide said, smiling at her daughter. “They’re on the third shelf in my closet.”

Beatrice kissed her mother on the cheek as she walked out of the room, the purple dress flapping behind her shoulder as she went. 

Daphne felt the familiar pang in her chest watching the mother and daughter interact. Adelaide’s face had lit up at the sight of her eldest child, a look of pure joy at the surprise of Beatrice’s presence. Daphne knew for a fact that her own mother had never looked so happy to see her. The only time either of her parents called her _darling_ or _sweetheart_ or any other pet name was in public, in front of their peers. To maintain the appearance that they were a perfect, happy family.

Adelaide turned back to her. “Now, what were you thinking? My daughters have become impossible to pin down for pre-approved outfits, which means you’re in luck. Choose any color you want.” She gestured toward the gowns behind Daphne.

Daphne shook her head in slight wonder. “Oh, no, Your Majesty. I should coordinate with Her Majesty and Her Royal Highness, not the other way around.”

Adelaide waved her hand, coming to stand next to Daphne. She turned her with a hand on her arm. “Nonsense. It has been brought to my attention that I have perhaps been a bit _too_ opinionated about their wardrobes,” she shook her head with a smile, “so if anything they’ll thank you for taking my attention away from them.”

Was that why Beatrice had been the one to fetch her own dress? Daphne had always had grand visions of Palace staff doing everything for her, but maybe that life wasn’t quite as glamorous as she’d been envisioning. Now that she thought about it, the idea of not picking her own wardrobe made her cringe. Maybe the queen was just trying to maintain some sense of control over her life?

“Well, I know Her Majesty likes green,” Daphne said, pushing a few dresses to the edge of the rack. “And Her Royal Highness tends to like anything glittery. So I think I should steer clear of these.”

Adelaide laughed lightly. “Well, you certainly pay attention.” She nodded toward the remaining options. “It’s a state dinner for the Netherlands. Which colors would be most appropriate?”

Was the dowager queen testing her? Daphne almost laughed. As though she didn’t know how to dress for a royal event. 

“There’s always orange, of course,” Daphne began. “Although, is Lord Davis attending? Perhaps I should leave that to him.”

“Marshall does enjoy leaning into that color motif,” Adelaide snorted affectionately. “Orange wouldn’t play well with your hair, I don’t think.” She looped a perfectly curled tendril around her finger. Daphne felt a lump rise in her throat at the maternal action, which she quickly swallowed. “Let’s start with the blues.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what's this? a daphne pov?? I actually found daphne to be hard to get into her head. I don't find purely ~mean~ characters all that interesting, and something I actually thought Majesty did well was give daphne a bit more depth. I think she's one of the few characters who isn't all that enamored with the royal family, and having her be the one to tell beatrice when she's full of shit just felt right to me. daphne still needs to answer for her own past misdeeds, but she didn't do those things in a vacuum. 
> 
> picturing little bee wishing for a little sister made me v sad. poor kiddo has been lonely most of her life. 
> 
> thanks for reading!!!


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